September 2nd.

Thirteen years ago

I woke up not knowing

it would be the last time

those lime green walls

would be mine.

That I’d wake up next to

rotting breath and a furry tail in my bed,

load the dishwasher in disdain,

and be out of the house by 10—

the designated time,

because it was summer

and she’d be sick of me home by then.

The door would be locked,

I’d go to work and make sandwiches,

getting pumped for the concert that night,

meeting friends

down on the waterfront.

And when Theory of a Deadman came on stage

I would have no idea

that the door would never be unlocked again,

that my ex-boyfriend would became my "again,"

that my home would become my past

as I looked through the window

shaking the door handle,

while she shook her head.

No idea where I went wrong,

I blared my horn down the road,

slept at a friend’s that night,

never realizing this was the beginning of

the rest of my life.

But from that day forward,

anytime I heard Better Off

I had to laugh,

because what better anthem

to have heard live that night

as they locked the door

and meant it.