Any time I don’t know where to go, I end up here.
The way I always used to run to you,
I wonder just how much of me is still you.
How much of me is cold, buried in the dirt.
Listening to nothing but the trains screaming when it gets dark.
The first between my teeth, the second behind my ear.
The way you used to do it,
We were just kids then.
Nothing but dirt and dead grass now.
“I still think about you.”
Cold marble under my hand.
“It used to not scare me – coming out here like this. Now it does.
Guess I got scared of dying
Somewhere along the way.”
Cigarette burning out in my mouth, the other unlit between my fingers.
“I guess you don’t need this anymore.”
Tuck it back behind my ear.
The wind howling, tangled up in stone.
In other people’s friends, someone else’s lover. Someone else’s life.
The way I used to dream about ours together,
“I wish you were here.”
Trying still not to think about how you always will be.
How you never made it out of this town.
The way you always said you would.