May 20, 2012
One hand is on the wheel, one foot is on the accelerator. The passenger seat is empty; it’s just me and broken memories in the car. Behind me is a suitcase, and beside that is a photo album where all pictures of you are ripped in half.

Places race by my window, and I don’t know where I’m going. I just know that I’ll go through states just to be away from you. Maybe somewhere across the coast, I’ll stop and finally breathe, because even with hours between us, I still don’t feel safe.

And maybe, I’ll finally be free.

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