AN: The song is "Waco Lake," by The Nields.

watch my heart break by Waco Lake
I try to make my mind up
for Heaven's sake

In retrospect, the amount of time I was away is virtually nothing compared against the rest of the life I've lived and the life I've yet to live. But the journey might as well have taken up a third or half of my time on Earth, because that's how it felt as I traveled from town to town, from one friendly home-away-from-home to another. Some people like to say the journey is the destination. Obviously, these people have never taken a journey more complicated than driving to the supermarket, because in my experience, when you embark upon a journey, particularly one as spontaneous as mine, you are often attempting to escape the destination to which you inevitably return. I guess that's why I'm back now. I haven't really learned anything, and I've found certainly none of what I told you I wanted to find. The one thing I have done is finally chosen a direction: I want to be a writer. So cliché, isn't it? But there it is. And perhaps with that decision, a clearer sense of identity beyond that of Molly Phillips's only son or that crazy girl's brother will also develop. At least, I hope so.

so take me to the fire
where I'll burn my poor heart down
and do me a favor, won't you call John the Baptist
tell him I'll be there soon if I make it back to town

I kept in touch with everyone, it seems, but you. Was that my fault, or yours? I guess I was avoiding you as much as you were avoiding me. I probably shouldn't have written you that night, but I just felt like I had to say those things even if I couldn't stand the thought of your reaction to them. I tried to find something out there, anyone at all who might fill the space you occupy in my head. There was nothing. I'm not sure if that means I've fallen in love for the first time-great material for my book, I guess-or if it just means that the life of a writer is always lonely because it's so much easier to write what is felt than to speak it. I could never, for example, have actually said the things I told you that night. I wonder what you did with the letter. Did you burn it? Did you toss it in a drawer where it's long forgotten now? Did you fold it into tiny squares and hide it among your private things, and do you occasionally pull it out and re-read it to be sure that it says what it does? I'm probably just flattering myself, aren't I? You probably just read it and smiled at my utter foolishness and then discarded it, right?

my upbringing was full of things
just keep us safe and happy
till your kingdom comes

Because it meant nothing. I'm ready for that. I'm ready for things to be awkward between us for a while until I apologize and you tell me gently that you're sorry too that you just don't feel it, which of course I already knew because how could you? It doesn't matter now. You've given me more than you realize, and that's probably enough. And, you know, I'm ready to see them again too. Maybe things will be different. Maybe they won't. Maybe I'll still be the silent partner. Maybe I'll still be the only source of calmness in that perpetually stormy house. I don't care. I'm ready. I'm different. But more important, I see that I don't need to be different. I clawed my way out of this box and I've seen the world now, I've taken risks and made my own choices, I've tasted freedom. And I know it'll always be out there, waiting for me. But right now, I just want things to be the way they were. Just for a little while.

it doesn't matter what I do 'cause I'm burning either way
it doesn't matter 'cause I saw my lover with another yesterday
I must return
I watch my home inferno and know he's holding her

Imagine my surprise when you were already there when I walked in tonight. You looked trapped, like you'd rather be anywhere else, and all those thoughts I had before about being ready for that kind of reaction just disappeared. I forced happiness for the rest of them and I tried to forget about you as we gritted our teeth and smiled at each other as expected. After the initial shock and dismay were over, I noticed that you really haven't changed at all. Have I? I can't tell. I'm two years older now, not much wiser, a little weathered maybe but not much. I wonder if you could ever reconsider me, or if it's even worth wondering about anyway. Maybe I should just leave you to your life. You have no idea how hard it hit me to see the two of you together again. It's not like I'm not used to that--it's even part of why I left in the first place, but somehow I just thought things might be different when I came back. I guess I'm still naïve.

so take me to the fire
where I'll burn my poor heart down
and do me a favor, won't you call John the Baptist
tell him I'll be there soon, if I make it back to town

"It doesn't matter." That's the only thought that brings me comfort--as deceptive a feeling as it might be--now that the house is quiet, and you're long gone. Everyone else just seemed relieved that I was back and order was returned to our little lives. Sometimes I wonder if any of this would have happened if we weren't so close to each other all the time. It's almost depressing, isn't it? Some of us might get up the courage to stray, but we must always return, and nothing ever changes. But I do live here, and I am one of you, so in a way I feel relieved to be home, too. Now if I could only figure out what to do about you...