the road whistles, coils and fabricates the journey home. daddy drives and mamma counts down the descending degrees in temperature. i sit staring out the window, looking beyond myself and back at you. time moves and the car is carried with it, as i shed layers of ourselves in memory. with eyes closed to consciousness, i feel your fingers woven inside the pocket of my palm. tightly holding each other, we make our own stamp of being. our skins sweat as the night's skin turns dark. dreams preserve the history of our affairs - we feel each other now and then. if you saw me now, you may say i look most natural, but really i just feel common. i am rather ordinary when i am out of love.
-i have tried to write you out of myself. still trying.
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