She tells me that I’ve changed. I ask her to define change. I ask her like the way wind rustles leaves, I’m in her bones at this point. She’s shaking. I drive away with the last bits of summer. I’m shaking. I’m angry. I have her attention, but she doesn’t have mine. Did I break her heart? She says, she speaks– my train of thought runs all over me. Bits of who I believe myself to be exposed to daylight– we’re unfamiliar. We’re strangers. We don’t talk like we mean it. I’m hollow, I’m empty, I’m cracked, I’m ripped. I mindlessly do things. I smile because I want people to relax, not because it’s real. I make people laugh because there’s too much crying when we’re alone and no one truly cares too much to pay any real attention. The burning ashes from my lit cigarette thins itself on my knees. I can’t seem to love people anymore. Real life interactions carve me open, but I don’t pay attention to myself. I call myself selfish, but in a way I’m just too selfless. I’ve given too much away, I don’t recognize myself in the rearview add to that… this is the longest 30 minute car ride ever. She gets out. I drive away. If I screamed, I wonder if she could hear it through our silence. She says how come you never write about me, darling, I can barely write about me. I’m a stranger to my strangers. I’m a stranger to me.
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