#andwherenow

a head-on at 65 miles per hour

i sat in the grass i tore up after swerving out of the left lane

i thought i had time to pass a tractor and i almost killed someone. i almost killed someone. it really does happen that fast

it would’ve been a very different night tonight for both of our friends and families if we wouldn’t have swerved at the right time

do you agree?

does my absence leave you emptier?

do you too feel like your ribs have opened, with a child jumping in your innards like rain puddles?

i’ll probably never know. this cycle of not knowing how you truly feel will continue to eat away at me.

i just want to hear from you. and while we’re on the topic of what i want, i want you back

i deleted all social medias from my phone, as there is nothing for me there. now i wake up and scroll through my camera roll, looking for you

up north, the wildflower bouquet you carefully picked for me on a walk. how soon did you forget

yesterday i wanted to bring your clothes back. but it started pouring and you know i don’t like driving in the rain

i wrote you a poem, so long ago now, about the feeling of your hands around my waist and how i fell asleep to the thought of that.

i lay on my stomach and try to picture my head fitting perfectly between your bicep and chest like it always did.

how strange is the fact that calling you my baby comes as naturally as sobs do when i realize i will likely never do that again.