A part: one part
Apart: separate

You're: You are
You're welcome
You're funny
You're home

Your: belonging to you
Your noses
Your sense of humor
Your home

Yore: time long past
In days of yore

My phone informs me it's about to die. This is not good timing. "I have to hang up. Talk to you tomorrow?" I have so many questions, but I need my battery to live long enough to get me home. I kind of doubt they'll let me sleep in the club all night. Then again, maybe it's worth trying. I'm not sure I can get home with this much battery left, and it's comfortable here.

I wake up with a hand on my shoulder. If I had to guess, I'd say the burly Italian man is telling me to get out. I wish I had cash in my pocket. You can't really bribe someone into leaving you alone with a credit card. I roll off the sofa reluctantly. 2:00 A.M. Four percent charge. I try to commit the map to memory as I walk quickly through the dark.

It freezes for a moment, and the screen goes black. I'm close, I think, but I'm not sure where to go from here, and I'm afraid I'll take the wrong path. I just have to trust myself, right? A right, a left, a bridge, another right, and I'll be there. I just have to keep moving and hope I'm doing the right thing

There's no bridge. Did I turn too soon? Did I not go far enough? Should I retrace my steps or keep going? What if I remembered the directions wrong? I push down the sick feeling in my stomach and go back again. Maybe in the day I would recognize where I am better. I try again. Nothing. I'll be okay. I'll make it back. Worst case, I'll wander around all night until I can get directions.

That's not the worst case.

I just want to go to sleep. I'm putting so much work into this movie, and I don't want to feel like a zombie tomorrow. I just want to be safe and warm indoors. I keep walking, trying not to look lost and only losing my way even further. I can't find my hotel. I can't even find the club.

Can I just knock on someone's door and ask for help? It's too late. I don't speak Italian. I don't even know what time it is now or how much longer I have to wait. Why is there nobody to ask? I mean, there are drunks once in a while, and an occasional sleeping beggar, but no one remotely approachable.

Eventually I resign myself to a cold, miserable, sleepless night. I'm going to make it up to myself by getting a hot chocolate and a double espresso as soon as the first coffee shop opens. I'm going to charge my phone and call Scott and tell him I want to come back. I want to move back in. I hate not belonging anywhere when all this time, my home has never moved.

Why now? Why couldn't Scott have believed me three years ago? How did I let this happen? I should have tried harder.

No, I would have only made it worse. I didn't understand him at all. How could I have been so stupid? I let my best friend develop alcoholism and depression before my very eyes, and I was too caught up, too personally offended by his behavior, to see what he needed. I was too selfish to stay for him. I was too hurt to put him first anymore, even when he needed it.

I was blind at first, and that's not much of an excuse, but at least it's something. After the hospital, though, I should have known. At that point, I knew what at least part of the problem was, and I knew he'd have to go to rehab, and I didn't take care of it. I left. I left him alone in the hospital after he almost died just because he looked at me wrong. I gave up on him right when he hit rock bottom.

Time passes too slowly. My feet keep inching forward, but I'm going nowhere. I'm exhausted. I can't fix this, only wait. It will all be better in the morning. I just wish I knew how much longer. The sky is some indication. They say it's always darkest right before dawn, but how dark does it have to get before I can be happy again?

I try asking for help a couple times as people start to appear early in the morning, but no one understands me or takes the time. It's okay. I'll find someone. The horizon turns orange, and I stop a middle-aged man with a Canadian flag on his backpack. Finally! He calls a water taxi for me, and even waits with me until it arrives, bless his soul.

Someone in the room beside mine is playing piano when I finally get back. I don't care. I have an hour and a half left to sleep, and a little faint music isn't going to bother me. Who plays music at 5:39 AM in a hotel, though, seriously? Someone from out of town, probably, suffering from jet lag. It's kind of rude of them to make the rest of us suffer too, but I guess it's not loud enough to wake anyone up.

I plug my phone in and kick off my shoes. The tune sounds familiar. I press my ear to the wall.

It's always you I go back to;
I know it's danger.

Someone is playing Art of Letting You Go. Scott's least favorite song. Baz must have booked him the room next to mine.

It's always you my heart runs to,
But I'm a stranger.

I've felt the same way about him. We're a mess.

Baby, what happened?
What am I to do?

Apologizing would be a good place to start. It's not going to be as easy as that, though. We can't just both apologize and be okay again.

Wanna move on,
But I'm scared of losing you.

Scott chose to move on for the longest time, yet here he is in Venice with me. He gave up. This isn't how I wanted it to be.

I can't seem to master the art
Of letting you go,
No, I can't seem to master the art
Of letting you go.

Me neither.

Try not to dwell on it, but sometimes I can't help it,
So I paint pictures with it.

He doesn't paint, but he sings. It's probably what Tori meant by painting anyway. The songs he sings, though... they make my heart sick.

Even when I was always on the road, I was always doing shows,
and my life was never slow, don't you know,

Is Tori Kelly a time traveler or something? How did she write this before it all happened?

Your love stayed in the back of my head,
and a house full of memories is where I lived.

I miss that house full of memories.

Right when I came home, oh no, there I go
Saw you again and I can't even pretend.

After trying so hard to resist this, is it really going to work? Do I stand half a chance? Maybe he's just tired now. Maybe he'll push me away again when he recovers enough to stand alone.

I'm wishing that I could be happy with you, with you, with you...

I tried to be happy with Alex, and even if part of me knew it was off, it worked. I was happy. I was sad too, but I was happy. That's how it's going to be with Scott if we can find a way to be friends again. After everything we've broken, everything we've lost, we'll be sad. But we'll be happy too, and it will be worth it.