I Still Think About You Sometimes, But You Can Go In Peace.

Perhaps I’m going to write again.

Even when this grief roots into my spine, sending mails to every new address under my name. What have I learned about days but a field trip under scorching sun, softened in the heat and dug a hole in the rearview mirror?

In a dream I don’t tell, the sky was a heartbreak blue and cigarette didn’t brightly burn in your hand. The swing got me like a lamb running through wild grass, dizzy and sweating with free rein. Why did you get into the car? I suppose you would just return with ripe pomegranates before dinnertime.

We make reasons under our praying nose but most travels don’t come in two-way tickets and tangible trails.