just say something, just drive
And this is how it ended.
She said nothing about her feelings (not really)
She asked nothing about a future
He was scared just like her
her mother knows there’s nothing to worry about
her boyfriend knows she doesn’t have the guts.
She said thank you for the ride,
goodbye for good and forever.
he promised to keep in touch, laughed about my doubt, but I know better.
For once, I know better.
"You got a fast car
But is it fast enough so we can fly away?
We gotta make a decision
Leave tonight or live and die this way”
(You didn’t turn at my street, I keep talking, keep you busy, distracted.
"Keep going straight. Go straight until you get to the end of the road, then turn to the highway and drive till you get to the end of the city, the state, the country. And keep driving, just drive."
And we just drove forever and that’s all there is to tell.)
she’s always standing still
I feel really empty and everything so I decided to make some coffee hot enough to scald, tuck my moleskine and a pencil into my pocket and walk around town like a lunatic.
In my mind, I’m propped against the fence in our ally, tying my hair back and writing down the first thing that comes to me.
Walking to the end of the road, to the end of the next one, all the way to the Jr High field, or maybe even the big football field. Turn the corner, I’ll visit the cartoonist’s house. Turn another corner, I’m at that house I mistook for someplace important.
I don’t have light but I’ve got time and that’s all I need.
But instead of doing what I daydream about, I get nervous (like I do with everything).
Too many reasons to name.
So I sit down at the stairs and decide it was stupid anyway ‘cos I’ve got no where to go.
I’m stumbling around bleary eyed everywhere. I’m just that tired girl petrified of growing up.
And, yes, that is a fucking scary thing.
I’m looking for something and I don’t know what and I don’t know where, so I’ll never find it.
Instead of taking action, I write about it, like I’m trying to cleanse myself of it or something.
It’s bullshit, I’d rather be moving.
I’ve decided I’m going to write more, whether it’s good or bad, exciting or not.
This is my life.