year 1.

to oliver: my 2002 isuzu trooper

it all seemed so coincidental,
that you broke down at the moment i knew it was over with him.
it felt like the universe was warning me,
that a part of me was gonna die with you.

she picks me up and i laugh all the way back to her house,
completely oblivious to what i left behind
as we drove away from you.

when i look at you,
i see a montage of memories,
a supercut of my junior and senior year.

from mornings of pre-school madness
as everyone piles into my car
with coffee and energy drinks,
scribbling down last nights homework,
chaotic last minute studying.
i try to play music everyone likes,
but i get clowned on for always playing sad songs.
and he stares at me as if saying its okay, i like your music.

to the breakdowns i spent clutching onto the drivers seat,
grabbing the wheel, squinting
through the tears that blur my vision,
and thinking i wouldn't mind if i swerved a little too hard.
seeing the rain match the pattern of my tears,
hard, fast, draining, unforgiving.
wondering why i am alive as i pull into the
dance studio parking lot.

all of me that was made feels gone now.
you brought me home from the hospital in 02,
you saw me enjoy the highest highs,
and the inevitable lowest lows.

i take the intangible souvenirs from the years
i spent driving around town in you,
the trips i made to the houses of people i
no longer talk to.
roadmaps and conversations left in the dark abyss
reserved for those who walked away.

yet, somehow i am grateful you are gone.
you are too much of a reminder of everyone who has left me
to cry in my new car.

-m