Graffiti

Our car crawled out of the parking lot,
The airport in the rear-view mirror,
As I sat in the back left seat,
My stomach twisting in knots.

‘Oh, this isn’t how I dreamt it,’ said my heart to my brain.
‘It never is,’ my brain replied.

And though I searched to find the greener grass,
All I saw was the cold concrete and the colder half-smiles
Of those who thought the same
About me.