#van au

I hate it when you get sick

When you lay in my bed, after I've been the one to drive all day

The way you you sigh loudly, like a temperamental child, whining at every bump, every jolt 

Your head hurts, you feel hot, you feel cold

Your hungry, you want to vomit- you scramble for a bag and I have to listen to you empty your stomach contents as I focus on the road

You whine for food, water, a cigarette- somehow you manage to still crave nicotine even in this state

Eventually, I pull over at a gas station to restock and to get you more medicine 

I don’t buy the cigarettes 

When I return you are still in my bed, curled up- quiet

Your tired blue eyes track me as I place your medicine down, some water, light snacks

You don't want any of it, instead you call my name

You call for me, your arms outstretched and needing- you crave my touch more then the nicotine or medicine

I don’t want to get sick. I have more driving to do. But you look at me with such longing eyes I bend

Crawling into bed with you, it's cramped, we have to huddle close to not fall out. Your body is hot, your fever riddled head nestled into my neck

Your fingers painted with chipped black paint gripping the back of my shirt, holding onto dear life. I run my hands through your hair, noticing your mohawk is fading

I wonder when we will have to dye your hair again, probably when you are healthy 

Eventually you fall asleep in my arms, your body rising and falling with each breath you take

I can’t help but wonder to myself, has anyone else held you like this before? Has anyone else laughed with you as green hair dye stained my sink, helped you paint your nails, smoked a cigarette with you as we talked about life and music or whatever came to us?

It’s not worth focusing on right now, because you are sick.