In the morning the rain makes me long for something more. I wonder what I'm doing--working two waitressing jobs--that I love, nonetheless--but without writing. I haven't written in so long and I need it. It hurts me not to write and it hurts me even more that I've had plenty of things to write about here but have pretended that I haven't had the time or needed a break.
At night the rain blurs every line, every light, every thought. The smudged streaks of red foreshortened on the wet black road draws me forward, like a fly towards a glowing electrified zap, while the green lights push me on. I wouldn't mind leaving this place... Just like that. It will happen soon I'm sure, so if you're here and you care to spend time I'd do it now.
The next rainy night, driving aimlessly around town, keeping both hands on the wheel--as if that means I know where I'm headed--as the steering wheel jerks through the puddles, I'll sneak out. I'll have no qualms about telling no one. They'll text me for a drink and as infinitesimal as possible I'll say, "I'm not in Columbia anymore." And that will be that... A new city, new people to learn and love, a new adventure.
At night the rain blurs everything. It's treacherous and eerie and dark... But aren't those the words I live for?
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment