I hope your stomach drops when you remember me. I hope whenever someone calls you by your full name, that only I ever called you, you shut your eyes trying to get my face out of your head. I hope when you drive past our favorite spot at night you can’t help but hear my laugh. I hope you wish it was me when you find yourself sleeping with some random girl. I hope you think of me often, and it stings every time.
concept: you are driving us home at night, i’m curled up in the passenger’s seat, my hand on yours. i’m watching the street lights dance on your face. bon iver is playing in the background. i am happy to be alive
You broke my heart
but it doesn’t feel like heart break.
I drive a little faster, I cross the street without looking, I smoke an extra cigarette for each time I usually smoke one. I take my walks late at night instead of the safer afternoon. I go outside while my hair is still wet. I take two extra sleeping pills than I should.
I’ve become reckless.
Maybe you didn’t break my heart.
Maybe you just broke my way of living.
“Do you like driving at night? lolol I love it since you can see the stars!! If we run faster, the stars and moon will follow us too!! It’s a race!!! Of course… it’s much more fun if it’s a long race lolol”
… and all of the sudden, it’ll hit you out of nowhere that your heart doesn’t feel heavy anymore. you’re not waiting for the next thing to go wrong. sometimes you’re tired and sometimes you cry, but living doesn’t feel like a chore anymore.
self care is sneaking out in the middle of the night even though you have your own apartment and driving to the coast. any coast, so long as you cant see the other shore. one of the oceans, one of the great lakes, whatever. you watch the waves for a while before you find yourself in a denny’s eating pancakes at 4am. you leave and find yourself a run down motel with windows overlooking the highway. you’ve come this far, you think, why not see how much farther you can go. you clear out your bank account through the atm across the street over the course of a few days, you assume a new name, a pen name you always dreamed of using if you were an author. your eye for detail and steady hands help you make a fake ID. you cut and dye your hair. you don a pair of glasses the old you wasn’t brave enough to wear. you dress in goodwill flannels and torn jeans, an old green parka from when you were a teenager is the only thing you keep. you travel the country, stay in motels wherever you go, you collect their matchbooks. you find yourself in the arizona desert when your car breaks down. you wander the road, but no one passes by. you see a person on the horizon and you wonder if it’s a mirage. the person is a teenage boy dressed in 80′s clothes. he doesn’t look real, you wonder if it’s a fabled sand spirit. he directs you to the way of the nearest town. you never see the boy again. you find yourself a nice motel in arizona, and help out the owner, an elderly mexican woman, in return for free occupancy. when she grows old and weak, she hands over the motel to you. you remain the owner until your own death 60 years later. you meet the sand spirit again and you haunt the desert together, helping lost motorists who dare wander into this most inhospitable place
The desert at sunrise seems so peaceful and still, but if you look closer, the sights and sounds of Organ Pipe Cactus National Monument in Arizona reveal a remarkable community of plants and animals. Human stories echo throughout this desert preserve, chronicling thousands of years of desert living. A scenic drive, wilderness hike or a night of camping will expose you to a living desert that beautiful and thriving. Photo by National Park Service.