when you were little, you used to say that you wanted to go home, even as your mom held you in your bedroom.
there's only one time where you've felt truly home - and it's standing in the louvre, holding hands with a girl made of stars. your palms are clammy and you hope she can't notice you shaking. but you're looking out over paintings of the virgin mary and she makes you believe in god.
somewhere, ganymede sings, and when you enter the room of the statues athena's marble lips lift into a smile. the girl kisses you like icarus must have kissed the ocean as he died, and all of a sudden you are heavenly. the girl smiles.