Thursday, August 28, 2014

And Waste Another Year

Something Better Happen Soon

Looking past the signs at the start of the long, slow drive west.

The dew on the trees already.

The summer turning fall.

The nights turning cold.

This time different, you say.

This time it means something.

And yet, you're not sure.

You don't want to see it slip away.

Like the long, slow drive west.

But she gets in the car. Packed. Like it's always packed.

And you say something. And she says something.

Not the things you've said before.

And she starts the car.

And you wave as she drives.

And she waves once.

And then you can't see anymore.

You look. Stand there.

For a long time.

You think you hear something. Maybe she's turned around. Maybe she forgot something.


And then the cold hits you.

And you think: Maybe not.

Because it's fall. And it's getting colder.

And soon it will snow.

And that's not what you want.

Not this year.

Not this time.

Not without her.

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