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One of those nights. I suddenly wanted to shed everything and take off, no explanations. Not waiting to see who would notice, just the air on my face as I walked briskly forward, voices behind me fading with every footstep.
I understand now why some people just leave it all.
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Its a long haul, where the road is covered with blown dirt and leaves, tires crunching on small stones and the rough edges of broken glass. Mile markers whip by, dopplered sound making small ‘whuf’ noises. Just gas, guts and go. Right foot aching to stomp the pedal, turning stored energy into a loud roar. The destination isn’t even important anymore, just keep moving, over that hill, under that bridge.
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Four beams of light, probing low hanging clouds. Luminescent and plump where they intersected the cool mist layered above. I watched them for a while, fingers of light opening and closing. Massage on the back of night, the breeze a sigh of contentment.
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I had one of those dreams again, where a thread of plot seemed anchored in my hand, willing to be directed. Always unnamed, the women I see there - so happy and giving. When I try to focus on one, the shifted blur of my mental camera leaves me with the echo of their voices. Like a desert mirage yielding to burning sand.
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I’ve truly come to loathe the sun. Perhaps it isn’t its fault directly, but the people that cavort and mingle under its generous rays, living as if consequences is a country far, far away. Give me the cool of the evening, where only the bold dare to tread, and fools meet their reckoning.
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Small favor overtaken by rudeness. Principle the only bulwark against selfishness. Because I said so, that’s why. Part of growing up is understanding sometimes “no” is the answer.
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I’m rapidly tiring of dealing with people who have nothing but anger in their hearts. Fire that consumes from within, leaving lines and striations.
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Faint sounds of a melody, long vertical streaks of rain. Tree leaves move restlessly, as if to shake off the drops. Ragged streaks of clouds, torn and sullen. What I wouldn’t give to have one more day with you.
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Obsessed with solving something. Circling it, measuring, calculating. Poking the problem looking for suggestions of weakness. That triumphant moment, when in a sudden leap of logic - the answer lies bare, like a woman sleeping beneath fine linen sheets.
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It was then that she bit my neck, hard. I moved to protest, but heard her say, “Just let it happen.” We sat together as the nerves in my skin rang out in alarm, slowly receding.
