You Burden Me With Your Love.

Bring me to a full stop as I watch over this time, for the last time. I’ve been standing at the end of the precarious cliff, my toes gripping the edges, pebbles digging into the sensitive flesh of my feet. I feel my hair whipping form my skull, as if clawing their way out, similar to myself.

Wanting freedom. That’s all we’ve ever wanted. Until we’re too far gone to care. That’s what I was. I was too far gone. I could cradle the thought of freedom for as long as I liked, craved it with so much vigor. Vomit hurdling full capacity and still never happen.

The lights were dim down low; it was a small town. Cows were not far to the right, I could hear them. Hell, I could smell them. Cars passed through the highway, revving their engines, that direct outcome would drive me insane.

I remembered my old high school, where everything originated out of proportion. I remembered that old IGA where I ran into the automatic doors, ignoring the sign that says “please push, doors not functioning.”

I remembered that old theatre where movies would come three weeks after they were realized, and we would laugh outside the theatre too shy to go in. That one really cute kid was always there.

I remembered the river, where we’d throw rocks on the ice, thinking we were so cool, making sure the ice wouldn’t crack under our weight. And then cowering from the snowballs.

I loved the way the eighth grade hallway always smelled of cooking, I remember how everything looked when I was fourteen. Everything was so traumatic. I remember wanting to cry every day.

I also remembered everything bad that went on in that damned town. With its normal school drama. I remember my friend, when she would verbally abuse me, demeaning. I remember wanting to leave, to pick up without telling anyone.

I also remember my ninth grade math teacher. I hated her. My mom did, too. Its so clear, the day I told my mom what my math teacher did, I never saw her so angry. It seems so miniscule, but she almost made me cry, I remember. The way she called me a liar, the way she wouldn’t listen to me. How she yelled at me in front of those people whom I most desperately wanted to be.

That’s what I’m doing out here, doing what I should have done long ago, I’m leaving, me and my mom. Our family. Which I should add, only included my two dogs and a cat, and my mother of course. We packed the car, drugged the dogs with tranquilizers so they wouldn’t completely tear the car apart and we got ready to drove. We stopped off here, though, for one last look.

To remember everything. To give our final goodbye.