not_home tender_square her body was stationary and yet she felt her spirit being pulled like molten glass in two opposing directions. the traffic over her shoulder raced west on the highway, as the car she rode in sped her east; the rip between the past and future was widening. and the trees stood as roadside witnesses, a silent congregation pious in a steadiness she herself did not possess. a sense crept into her heart that she could be anywhere, not inside the city she had lived in for a third of her life: she didn’t recognize the clusters of apartments and homes, the sprawl of industrial zones, or perhaps it was only the first time she was truly seeing them. the driver had his radio tuned to classical music and the violins wept their notes in the way she wanted to but could not compel. she would not miss this place. 220106 what's it to you? who go blather from