Pieces of Narration

The acorns keeping falling outside. Every time I think of small kamikazes, happy to throw themselves down to my window. I know it's not you sneaking through the window, and I'm a bit sad about it. Kamikazes are cool, though.

Thanksgiving always gives me an uneasy feeling in my stomach... coupled with nagging loneliness. No me gusta. I also don't like that I'm still here... prone to your visits. I never wanted to see you again, but I suppose it is my fault. I was supposed to be in China by now... really just anywhere but here. I'm reminded of the source you always cited when you spit in my face... 'We're steel sharpening steel, babe, and it feels good...' You always were good at sharpening my emotions, but to no avail. I'll still be running away tomorrow, sounding every bit like a wounded emo kid.

I adjust the rear view mirror but I won't need it, anyways. I'm not looking back.
The gas tank is on empty but I cast that from my mind. I let my conscience know that this isn't running away. My mind is condensed into one thought, one mantra that's repeated like a lifeline. I'm not going fast enough, not nearly fast enough.

What are you waiting for? The world is looking at you, babe, and it's laughing. Enough is not enough in this case.

I quickly shift into fifth, ready to go. I fight the urge to mourn the day you looked at me with tears in your eyes, disappointed. Your words reverberate in my head, you're telling me the state of things are sad enough, not nearly good enough.



To be continued.... when my thoughts are less boggled.