You’re my favorite thing to run to when the nights get long.
I fell out of love
like the slow fall from a 7 story window.
Jack pulled into his mother’s driveway slowly, turning the wheel with the heel of his hand. As he goes to pull the keys out of the ignition, he stops.
Jack liked to tell people he was just a ‘Pontiac kinda guy’. Kayla was a beaten down, 1997 Grand Prix that had seen her fair share of damage. “With the brand so few, i’ll keep it around, even though she’s pretty rusty, not to mention broken.” Jack would say as nonchalantly as possible.
But deep down, he loved every nuance of Kayla. Her right door smashed in; the result of a careless drive home after a few too many. Her soft, worn cotton seats contorted to the shape of his body on the driver’s side. The ashtray was absolutely filled to the brim, leaving smudges all across the center console. Memories full of road trips with old friends, the beginning and end point of drunken stupors, the safehouse from Bill; his home away from home.
He folded his arms across his chest, the warm black thermal drawing closer against his skin. The January cold began swarming in underneath his clothes. It had been a rough year, and just now, finally, things had been coming together. Jobs, college, a new home.
And of course, a new car.
The decision had been difficult, but the more and more he looked at it, the car symbolized a thing of the past; his old friends & old girls, forgotten fears and forgiven mistakes. He was beginning a new chapter in his life, and just like the Pontiac once had, this new car would symbolize his growth and accomplishment as a man.
he stood idle in the driveway; head chock full of thought, lungs tight with smoke. Jack picked at the old steering wheel cover with his free hand, the cheap plastic peeling off smoothly in accordance to the tug of his fingers. He took the final puff of his cigarette, right down to the filter. There was something about the heat dancing too close around his lips that made his last drag most pleasant.
This year has been
Trying to mend myself into something whole again
Something that doesn’t use your shoulders
As a goddamn crutch.
yeah, we’ll grow this quiet love
i’d like to see what it could be.
God, I just miss the way cigarettes taste on your lips.
Do not protect me from moments that allow bruised shins or a split lip
I will heal like humans do
Like God has created me to
Sometimes I just need to know
my blood truly does bleed red like the rest of us.
I text you an ” love you” before I get on any plane
because I worry you won’t know just how much
if I was gone tomorrow.
Please know, that it is limitless.
I never thought “i’ll always be here for you”
meant this ironic relationship.
For the record
I don’t think you did either.
Matters of the heart are much harder to repair
than broken bones and stolen purses.