You understand. You must.

I don't know, sometimes. All the time. I wish I never came back home sometimes, it hurts because there are disappointments, everywhere, all the time where I did not expect them. The kitchen counters are not as tall as I remembered, the living room is not as bright as it was in my youth. There is a smell that I cannot place--it is neither good or bad, it is not even in between sometimes, never. All the times I thought I could not remain for too long, I did not know that too long was not too long but was still long enough. I invite the dogs into my house one day and tell them to leave and it hurts because there are disappointments, everywhere, all the time where I did not expect them. Leave, I say, you understand. I'm sure because sometimes, all the time, everywhere, one cannot remain too long. I laugh at hurt faces, even if they are the faces of dogs. Too long is still long enough, I say. You understand. You must because you have things to do like stare at walls in silence, at reflections, and pace. I do not enjoy your company, it seems, as much as I had thought. How could it be otherwise?

Why would the dogs want to come back home? Over and over again, they are hurt sometimes, disappointed, everywhere, all the time they do not expect it.