Feet On The Road 

Made up your mind last Sunday, while laying on the sofa. Not breathing. Your voice strained with coffees and cigarettes as you spoke your plans to me. I can only give you a sympathetic smile,  but in my head I was begging. Begging that maybe you’ll change your mind.

I was there when you packed your suitcase while you uttered nonsense around the room as if cursing every memory it contains: the occasional faints, the phone calls from the doctors, when you reached the bottom of the pill bottle, and your blood spilling out of your body.

You promised to burn California to its roots until you can spit on its ashes. Abandoning monsters that haunted every move you made in these city streets. Your lips quivered with untamed wrath as you lock your doors and buried the key. You said you will be in Boston and you’ll never turn back. You said you’ll be with the lonely souls and maybe find serenity in bullets you left from a smoking gun. You’ll drink yourself to sleep and you’ll pray to never be bothered to wake up. 

Midnight drives you offered to me once. The first time we fell over love and a sweet romance, we drowned ourselves with whiskey and sin while the headlights were dimmed.Hidden from the road as the stars swallowed us whole.

It’s the night you forgot existed, yet it was the night I found my purpose.

Now you got on your plane with a contented goodbye. Saying you’ll send me a post card of your obituary. We laugh as I clenched my fists to restraint myself from grabbing your hand to run away. To keep you safe, to keep you steady, and to keep you with me.

Now I can see the back of your head full of your other unsaid plans.  You left me standing, dreaming of the night at New Mexico, the night you felt fine.

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