he says this stuff every year about this time, usually a few weeks before I go home for summer.

sure, he says he misses me, but it's not there. he doesn't mean it as much as he thinks.

and brotha friend, you better get it through to you that I'm not comin' home for you.

I'm comin' home for my family. my blood. after that, I've got nothin' for me there.

I used to.

but it's just part of an old shell of who I used to be.