It's not as if the sun dazzles in a thousand different ways,
a thousand better ways.
All it does is ferment the sweet flowers
that once held the key to my heart,
scorch the innocent embrace of what used to be.
Boston holds such better promises,
comprises such better welcomes.
I will not find tears
beneath the corners of every street;
no memories at the stop sign.
Just passersby, looking at yet another
broken girl, hoping to make her way
in the city of Boston.