Maybe.

Maybe I’ll sleep at the station because there’s nothing to go home to but an empty fridge and some stale mayonnaise. And maybe I'll make friends with the guys sleeping under cardboard boxes and newspapers and we’ll discuss what it means to love and to live. And maybe I’ll wander the city, like one lost and lonely particle in a dust storm of Tuesdays, late nights and overdue homework. And maybe I’ll get on a plane or a ship and get lost in places I’ve never been lost in before. Or you know, maybe… just maybe, I’ll keep my phone on me in case you call. And tell me there’s something to come home to.