“It's over. Go home."His eyebrows pulled in. "You're my home.”
“I'm done, Travis." He winced. "Don't say that." "It's over. Go home." His eyebrows pulled in. "You're my home.”
“It's over. Go home.You're my home.”
“I’m done, Travis.”“Don’t say that.”“It’s over. Go home.”“You’re my home.”
“It's not running away when you're going back home.”
“This warmth over the telephone. Is it possible for home to be a person and not a place? Bridgette used to be home to me. Maybe St. Clair is my new home.I mull this over as our voices grow tired and we stop talking. We just keep each other company. My breath. His breath. My breath. His breath.I could never tell him, but it's true.This is home. The two of us.”