Pain like trying to remember a dream. Like an overnight bus back home. Or away from it. Like waking up early in a strange bed, under too many covers. Or maybe not enough. Like walking through the streets of Germantown, now that they are so small. Or my life is so big. Like listening to the same song twenty-seven times before finally falling asleep. Or skipping past every one on a mix. Like going to the places where I think you’ll be, and not seeing you. Or seeing you and not saying a word. And crying on the drive home. Or not. Pain like regret. Or nostalgia. For the things I dreamt the night before. Nostalgia for things that never happened. Things that have yet to come. Or never will.