5

You wake up sprawled on his bed at the 7th floor studio type condo unit in Fort Bonifacio only to smell the scent of clove cigarettes and hear the tak-tak-tak of a vintage typewriter followed by the ripping and crumpling of pages.
You wake up in the passenger seat of his black, two-seater, pick-up truck and he's still behind the wheel, running away from things that scare him≈things like the responsibility of existing but never feeling alive.
You wake up on the couch of the waiting lounge at his best friend's recording studio at nine in the morning, late for a shoot because it's the only place that he'll consider working in.
You wake up anywhere but home because home is relative.
Because home is where he is≈was supposed to be-
Or part of him.
But I'm not going back home anymore.