Sadly I remember the drive,
From a considerable amount of innocence-
to experience and adulthood behind closed doors.
I recall being cold-
His letterman's jacket over my shivering body
didn't help the slightest.
My seat was laid back holding my stretched out body that
rested nervously from the truck's dull vibration.
From my peripheral vision, there he sat-
So immediate and firm; driving silent in his features-in his demeanor...
But not in his mind I'm sure. I imagine it was loud with thoughts of what he was to gain, what he was driving towards to receive from me.
Then his thoughts lessened in volume when pondering what I'd lose; everything given up for a cause unknown. I think he was almost ashamed-
comparing his ideas to mine. Considering the difference in our purposes, the internal guilt he tried to hide might normally push a respectable man's head down in shame- instead he layed his corrupting hands down on mine and pretended to hold them in sencerity.
I remember looking up at the trees passing our windows
Engulfing us from both sides; they moved too quickly for my liking.
Each branch came and went as though they didn't care what was left behind...
Leaves smacking the windsheild hard, leaving a trace of what could never be kept held down...reminded me far too much of him.
Then I gazed in satisfaction at the stars. They remained comfortingly still; even as we moved briskly they did not-
Faithfully they stuck around for my conveinance, so that I might feel at ease by their consistancy. It was almost a sign, that those were the only truth of the night, and I could rely on them till the night was over.
I wished honestly upon everyone of those stars...
Wished for a profound, deep love from only him-
affection and devotion so apparent that the idea of loss was unimaginable.
I wished realistically after that:
For the night to quickly; for the undying strength, along with ignorance- so that I might be able to fool myself into believing it's nothing
Or that I can give it all to whom ever without a second thought.
I wished the longest for Monday morning to arrive, and my mind would be blank; I'd be stricken with memory loss and no recollection of the previous weekend.
But those stars were no help or consolation to my desperate wishes and pleas-
The memories are laid out across the sky- lingering between the clouds, shaping my guilt and wishes as the wind blows by.
In the pages of my books- spelled out boldly in the text, telling the story of what I try to hide.
The images are sprayed across my shower walls- within the stinging drops that fall onto the reflecting tile.
That night is conveinantly everywhere for my suffering eyes to see-
Behind every corner ready to flaunt and ridicule at any chance...
How impossible it is to let go...