Memoirs
She's 21 with a cape of brown hair and dreams tucked in her jean pockets.
She loved a boy, at least it felt like love, and she knows heart break and she knows almost love.
She's said goodbye enough times that she can spell it backwards, can repeat it on command, can recite it in the shower, can list every side effect on the back of its prescription bottle.
Sometimes, the world gets really heavy and so she opts for the light weight of a cigarette; its delicate frame perched between her fingers.
She drives through wooded backroad with the windows down and slow anthems playing as she passes green and green and green and blue and she pretends it's all a poetic existence- the saying goodbye and the pretending to understand why and the way it's all supposed to come together one day to form some coherent picture.
She could have loved him but she had to say goodbye. And time is a cruel concept but the wind doesn't care as it zips back and forth through wisps of hair.
So she tucks another dream in her pocket, one she won't whisper out loud but to herself. They would laugh if she told them she thought it could all workout in the end.
That goodbye could one day be hello again.
She does not want it to get lost as she drives fast, acting like she doesn't care.
She loved a boy, at least it felt like love, and she knows heart break and she knows almost love.
She's said goodbye enough times that she can spell it backwards, can repeat it on command, can recite it in the shower, can list every side effect on the back of its prescription bottle.
Sometimes, the world gets really heavy and so she opts for the light weight of a cigarette; its delicate frame perched between her fingers.
She drives through wooded backroad with the windows down and slow anthems playing as she passes green and green and green and blue and she pretends it's all a poetic existence- the saying goodbye and the pretending to understand why and the way it's all supposed to come together one day to form some coherent picture.
She could have loved him but she had to say goodbye. And time is a cruel concept but the wind doesn't care as it zips back and forth through wisps of hair.
So she tucks another dream in her pocket, one she won't whisper out loud but to herself. They would laugh if she told them she thought it could all workout in the end.
That goodbye could one day be hello again.
She does not want it to get lost as she drives fast, acting like she doesn't care.