.homecoming.

They were beautiful dancers singers actors lovers who didn't know why. Why were they the lovers no one loved just made love and why every one says all celebrity tastes the same. You were charming and starry-eyed with rose petal cheek bones and a marble neck column with fairy clothes and punk rock knuckles and electric smiles and too much heart and not enough grit and not enough stone. Talent, check. Sincerity, check. "Fake" left the box empty.

Every flash of bright white light captured reluctance in a photo frame every flash every flash every goddamn flash. Why. So. Serious.

They tell you smile they tell you laugh they tell you grab his arm her arm act like you love each other give those reporters a reason to put pen to paper fingers to keyboard give the boy waiting back home a reason to cry. You never wanted to break his heart.

High school sweetheart, coffee stains on checkered shirts, your old Cadillac with memories and heartbreak and sugar and spice ingrained in the leather seats. The wind's back in your hair. You never did like the hills.

Hey love, it's time to come home.

A/N: Another prose-driven poetry drabble. Feedback greatly appreciated.