About That Girl

Swedish cars are supposed to be the best cars. That's what he says, but he is biased
Because he's from Stockholm,
And my mother always said that the foreign kids are liars
And I always believed her because what is a child going to do besides
Agree with their mother,
And I agreed her even after she sent a bullet going through her eye
And wrote a note in her blood that said something along the lines of "honey
It's been good.
Sweetie, it's been fine.
Baby, it's been kind,
Darling, you and me,
Maybe we should..."
But only she died before she could put the pen down and finish her sentence.
Now I spend my time finishing her sentences
Because I want to know what we should have done
That we didn't.
We didn't do a lot.
She didn't do a lot.
She didn't even finish her sentence.
And he says that it all starts with life
And ends with well, death,
But that's not where it ends because he's still alive,
And I'm pretty fucking sure he died inside a long time before you did.
Not that you're dead.
Not that I'm saying that you're not dead.
Not that I'm saying anything to you, because I'm not supposed to,
Because you told me not to.
And I've always followed the rules, love.
Even when they're unnecessary
Like busses with seatbelts or music without a beat.
And I've always loved you,
Seashells, red velvet cake, orange juice and warm creamy butter
And the lyrics to that one song that goes like this,
And the way your hair does that thing with the curls
And when your dress calls my name
And that one time in the car when I kissed you
After marijuana was inhaled into the lungs of the both of us,
Tired.
Sour.
Smokey.
And I could tell you every day
What this moment meant,
Except the fact that my car wasn't a Swedish one.
It was German, I think,
With that scraped paint and all of the empty lipstick tubes
We used to paint on our lips
Before that night when my dad caught us kissing
Not in the usual way but in love,
And he called us the names he used to call Hilary Clinton
When she was pictured on tv
And it hurt a lot more than it did back then
Because I loved you.
A lot.
Too much.
And I'm sorry
Like the words he said to me before he died six years later
From too much drunk juice.
He was driving his Swedish model
Like his Swedish wife,
The one that's not my mother
Although their names were similar.
Like yogurt and milk
Only not really
Because she was pretty and my mom was not
In the same way that she was-
That you are
Or were.
Or whatever.
Whatever, love.
He tells me not to call you that, even though I do
Because I like the way it rolls off my tongue
Like sandy hills or water down throats
Like your tongue down my throat.
Like your hand.
Just kiss me, God dammit
Even though I know you can't
Because Swedish cars are better than German ones
And your mother is from Frankfurt
And you left a long time ago.
Like a long time ago.
And I want you to come back,
Classy late night movies and popcorn and wine
Good wine.
Not that cranberry sauce your mother drank
But rich shit
Your brother stole
And gave to you to drink with your girlfriend.
It took me awhile to realize what you meant.
And it trickled out of your mouth and stained me
Like good wine.
And I didn't have anything to say,
But now I do.
I did it all for you.
Shellfish, get rich
Chocolate cake from a package
That tastes like Styrofoam.
Candy and lyrics and love
And wine.
Good wine.
Goodbye.