cleverly disguised as a responsible adult.

we bundled up in layers of freedom
and jumped into the car
driving hundreds of acres
into the foreign future
bubbling with excitement, we painted
hazy tomorrows with bourbon and sex,
charted yesterdays into notebooks
bound by platitudes and dime store ink
and too loud bands and
we called this youth.

you twisted my hair into a chignon,
your fingers soft like the french you whisper,
stuttery and wintery
a breath of fresh starts i could never grasp,
and i loved you then.
i loved you because you were unattainable,
all soft lines and girl,
and je ne sais quoi
so i kissed you because i knew you’d never stay.

we kicked the sand up as we danced along the waves.
sunset was far and the wind was bitter,
water frigid. old school rock howling,
we screamed along into our unknowns.
friction creating art but started realizing
cuddled against the shuddering wind,
there’s no comfort in being with someone
it isn’t you,
it’s me.

there was a spark and we dumped the fuel
hopefully igniting flames that would spread
through our beings because we were cold.
but the fire was never ours to tame
and we burned quickly, silently –
our voices raw from screaming against worlds.
smouldered with the understanding that
change denotes the only permanence in life.
we began to extinguish.

you revved the engines as we sped down highways.
we poured buckets of paint into the woods,
created our own autumn.
you gave me sugarplums and fairies
fingers trailing goosebumps across my arm
as we flirted with love
until you leaned in and grasped me–
your smell all marijuana and boy and the apple you had for lunch–
we captured youth that day
in a snapshot that hangs still
in a picture frame.

i am dressed in blacks and blues
with a white collared noose,
tripping over myself to be on time.
you’re tattooed with the dreams of our futures,
living in a past i can’t quite remember
and this, was your present:
a life away from each other.
we swore once that we’d find forever.
yet here we are, exchanging platitudes.
you ask me how i’ve been, you ask me how i’m doing
and you ask me if i (still) care.
but i can’t answer.

we both know that growing up is treacherous
and that i’ll sell my soul in exchange for a universe.

i wrote this sept  10, 2012.
dug it up and finally edited it, sept 14, 2016.
do you think 4 years really makes a difference?



2 thoughts on “cleverly disguised as a responsible adult.

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