*TECHNOBABBLE*

the boy in the other hotel bed is not your brother. your brother’s gone--

bedroom untouched, keyboard unplugged--

the party’s over.

no goodnight kiss to mom and dad. you’d say you’ve changed some since you saw him last--

the boy who is not the boy

in the other bed.

the coat in the downstairs closet is not your father’s, cigarette-soaked and age-spotted--

at a glance, almost the same, but someone else’s shoulders have worn in where his were wider.

his were wider. yes, you’re sure of it.

so wide your childhood self thought they could hold the sky up, clad in-- not this jacket.

still, you keep looking for it in the same damn closet every time you leave.

it’s your old house. no one else’s.

all the world is yours, just as it was, before it--

well, before. nothing has changed, it’s just the people.

maybe you, some.

just the same old world. it never changes, really.

it’s only you that’s different. that must be it.

how could another house supplant the old one? how could a stretch of beach change that much just because you weren’t looking,

just because you were busy

getting older, getting bitter, turning frightened, losing teeth and fights--

no, nothing changes. it was your father’s coat,

your old house. no one else’s.

and the boy in the other hotel bed--

there’s no one there. it’s only you

and the ghost of what you could have been

if you had stayed. stayed put, stayed steady, stayed sober, stuck around, stuck up for.

it’s you who’s gone and changed.