Now it’s been years since you left Boston. The Jackson sun sets on the boulevard. The sky loses light as the moon peeks through the gray cracked blinds of a home with a white picket fence that almost makes a broken world seem whole again. Joel’s back on the headboard, his arm around your waist as you lay and you think back on those years, as he whispers in your ear.

“I’m always going to be right here..” His rough eyes softened in fairy lights, calloused hand rubbing down the soft planes of your thighs.

“No one’s going anywhere.”