And I love Vermont, but it's the season of the sticks, and I saw your mom; she forgot that I existed. And it's half my fault, but I just like to play the victim. I'll drink alcohol 'til my friends come home for Christmas. And I'll dream each night of some version of you that I might not have, but I did not lose. Now you're tire tracks and one pair of shoes, and I'm split in half, but that'll have to do.