for you. you know who you are.
My dreams are all fog and falling, all blood and screaming children. Cars and radios and guns and flashing blue lights. And I never can get my boots on in time. And it’s always night. Or early morning.
That in-between time when nothing is asleep and nothing is awake.
Sometimes I wonder what’s more cruel, the words or the actions? Other times I wonder if I’ve been answering the wrong questions. And I wonder if anything before today even matters. You told me that it did. You told me that everything matters.
But every day I doubt you more.
A year ago today I walked away and you drove away. You went north and I went south. I’m still walking and you’re still driving. Maybe one day we’ll run out of land and make our way back to where we began.
Maybe one day.
My dreams are all fog and falling, all blood and screaming children. Trucks and helmets and machine guns and boots that are always too tight. Lightning on the horizon. Explosions in the clouds. Promising a storm that will never come. Promising a storm that would bring relief from this heat.
Promising. Promising.
Promise me.
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