Air Conditioning

Purposeful

In the night the music plays, and I'm bewitched.

It's cold, it snowed, and my heart aches.

I see a video you liked show up on my feed, gives me a song to drive to in the cold.

But I don't go home like I said I would, instead I find myself parked by your park.

I set up a queue. I tell myself the last song will be the one you sang, and then I'll go home.

It's symbolic, I think to myself. He would have liked it that way.

And so I lay back in my seat, put my hood up, close my eyes, and sing.

Eventually I roll the window down an inch, in hopes if you are walking, the music can be heard for you. That you may know I'm here. That you may know my heart is singing a tune for you tonight.

I think I should have quieted it.

The last song comes, and part way through I open my eyes.

There's someone- a bun in their hair, grey jeans, hurrying away from me and my car.

Is it you?

I wonder to myself.

If it was you, and you didn't want me to have seen you,

Why didn't you just turn and walk the way you came?

Why bother trying to sneak past me?

It felt like a rejection, even if it wasn't you.

I told myself I should go home, but instead I play another song, then another, then another- louder and louder I sing.

I tell myself to go home, but instead I drive past your street,

I tell myself to go home, but instead I wait on that lonely slab of concrete for what feels like forever, until my fingers have long since gone numb.

Why, and what for? I still don't know.

That retreating figure- it just felt wrong to leave after that.

At some point I decided to keep my knife at the ready, just in case in the darkness of that lonely slab or the walk back an opportunist decides to strike,

I walk back with it hidden in my sleeve.

As I get back to a more lit area, I attempt to close it within my sleeve and decide my fingers are too numb for it.

It's only once I enter my car, put my knife away, and my fingers begin to burn as I warm up do I feel it.

I came to feel better, but I only feel worse.

The retreat of whoever that was threw me. Who else would hurry so fast to leave an unknown stranger who had been laying in their car?

I scroll through social media afterwards and decide to check your posts.

There they are again, a stranger to me, posted three days ago with a bright bruise on their neck,

You knew, didn't you? That was purposeful?

Later, I discover that I was too numb to have felt that I had cut my arm twice while I was fumbling with my knife.

It stings just a touch, and reminds me of you.