Placing Bets

You told me, once, to run away.
To abandon thoughts from yesterday.
"Escape while you can," your pallid lips muttered,
"Forget you lived here."
Then came your final shudder.
Your last, shaking breath, hollow and frail.
You left me alone, to struggle, to fail.
That was years ago, before I ever learned
to fend for myself. Although sometimes, I yearn
for the place we once lived, together.

As I make my way through the cold, busy streets
I remember my youth.
And I stop.
I can't breathe.
I lean up against the clear, solid glass.
The people inside, they whisper, they ask,
"What's wrong with that girl?
Will she be okay?"
I force myself up. My lungs are released.
Stiletto heels click in time with heartbeats.
Too fast to be normal. Too slow to get me away.

I lie awake that night in my bed.
Two different worlds collide in my head.
I'm taken far back to my childhood town --
it's nothing like New York City.

The old town was always pale grey and light beige.
A few dusty roses grew out of the way.
Muted colors matched muted words disguised by muted prayers.
A single mind, a pack mentality.
You did not belong there. But you stayed there for me.
My father belonged. He was born and raised
among the religion, the conforming of ways.
You came from a place much like my home now.
You were bright lights and color
To this dark, dusty town.
He fell in love --
is that a surprise? --
and then, so did you --
with his deep, dreamer's eyes.

That dirty old place killed the wonder in you.
They made you complacent, they made you like them.
But you, you made me
a strange version of you.
I didn't see it until I was forced to.

I ran away at thirteen, just like you said.
They caught me in hours. You had to pretend you were mad.
Mad that I attempted what you could not for yourself.
Mad that I left without a single glance back.
Then you gave me advice to use the next time.

When I was fifteen you died, before my second attempt.
I could not bring myself
to abandon dear dad.
He was shattered by you and your short tragedy.
But when I turned eighteen
nothing could have stopped me.

"I've never made a bet," you said,
the night before you were gone.
"But you and I, we're different. We gamble with desire."
The wanderlust was in my eyes, you said when I was young.
I never knew quite what you meant
while you were there to ask.

I haven't been back since,
though it's been several years now.
I only regret not saying goodbye
to my darling, loving dad.

When I heard your voice today on the street,
I thought I had died. That you haunted me.
"Now you know what it takes to move on,"
said the wind.
In the tone of your voice.
And the smell of your breath.

I dreamt of your eyes.
Hazel and round.
Framed by dark and thick lashes.
I awoke feeling sick.

On days like today, I long to go back.
But the feeling, it fades before my resolve cracks.
I don't take many chances.
My odds are slim.