saltedboot

My therapist told me to go for drives when I’m frustrated or sad or just can’t process (like usual). Max is the only constant I’ve had in my life since I was 16. His ever messy backseat reflects the state of my cramped and crowded mind.

I often offer to drive my friends or meet them places so that I can have the comfort of him wherever I go. Allowing his slowly degrading seats to hug me as he carries me to my newest escapade. My friends and family know my attachment to him is strong and often joke that I would choose max over them any day.

Whenever I go for drives I usually go down the same small winding roads. The mountains weave me through their terrain while I untangle my mind and heart. They move like my emotions, often tangled and confusing, turning one way when you expect it to go another. These drives almost always end up in my makeshift sanctuary consisting of asphalt and stars.

I want you to think i’m amazing. So much so that I got a tattoo for it. I want to leave my mark, I want people to remember me. “Trace me onto you.” That’s what it says, my tattoo. I want you to trace my memory onto your brain, onto your heart and skin so as to not forget me.

Poetry Scares Me.