there is so much to say
Apr. 10th, 2001 09:11 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
threeplusfireI woke up this morning. You might as well be gone, being so far away that I can't see or touch or cry out to you. This leaving, this emptiness, this empty apartment you will never come back to. How many times I waited here on Friday nights, Saturday afternoons, for you to knock on the door even though you had a key. We talked about your grandmother on the balcony, and I felt so guilty that day because we had been making love while she was dying.
Remember when I asked you to run away, the first time in your driveway? Remember when the police chased out of the golf course parking lot, and my hands were shaking too hard to drive home. Remember how we would stay out all night, or up all night later, somewhere. That highway drive I will never make again, the one I could do in twenty minutes if I had too, speeding a little and cutting through the back roads.
I can't believe you're gone this time. It seems harder than before. I wonder if you had that little black and gold box in your pocket when we fought in IHOP on Friday night. You must have been carrying it the entire time. I keep seeing a ghost, a flash of light when I turn my head too fast. God, why is it this way? Of all the people in the world, you would think we would merit a second chance, the time and the place to start our lives over, why isn't it us?
I can feel my eighteen year old heart, the one that would scream out for blood in this moment. And my twenty year old heart that feels too old to know what to do. A ridiculous thing, to feel so damn old so seriously when one is twenty. All I want to do is crawl into the shower and back to bed, go nowhere else at all for a time.
Curled up in this chair, eating Indian food out of a styrofoam container and drinking ginger ale. My stomach hurts, my head hurts. I don't even really remember the dreams, just the copper numbers on the doors. It doesn't feel like Tuesday. There is a brief moment of sunlight, and I watch the wind shake the trees.
Remember when I asked you to run away, the first time in your driveway? Remember when the police chased out of the golf course parking lot, and my hands were shaking too hard to drive home. Remember how we would stay out all night, or up all night later, somewhere. That highway drive I will never make again, the one I could do in twenty minutes if I had too, speeding a little and cutting through the back roads.
I can't believe you're gone this time. It seems harder than before. I wonder if you had that little black and gold box in your pocket when we fought in IHOP on Friday night. You must have been carrying it the entire time. I keep seeing a ghost, a flash of light when I turn my head too fast. God, why is it this way? Of all the people in the world, you would think we would merit a second chance, the time and the place to start our lives over, why isn't it us?
I can feel my eighteen year old heart, the one that would scream out for blood in this moment. And my twenty year old heart that feels too old to know what to do. A ridiculous thing, to feel so damn old so seriously when one is twenty. All I want to do is crawl into the shower and back to bed, go nowhere else at all for a time.
Curled up in this chair, eating Indian food out of a styrofoam container and drinking ginger ale. My stomach hurts, my head hurts. I don't even really remember the dreams, just the copper numbers on the doors. It doesn't feel like Tuesday. There is a brief moment of sunlight, and I watch the wind shake the trees.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
day for hugs, I think
Date: 2001-04-10 08:27 am (UTC)