I used to worry. I still do.
I used to worry when I was a kid. What if we hydroplane on black ice? What if a drunk driver hits us? What if we decompose into the sparks and metal? What if being in a car kills us? (It will.) I thought I knew it all. I watched the news, after all. This car will kill us. (It will. It will.)
When I was too young to remember what age, I ate at Friendly’s. I ate and ate and ate. I ate so many cherries that they spilled out from my mouth onto the car floor. God bless whoever cleaned it up.
The day before I started fifth grade, a hurricane hit. Power was off. Water was off. Our imaginations were on. We spent the day in the car eating cheerios and watching movies with the sound off.
I wish I could say I remember California. I wish I was skilled enough to paint you a romanticized image of the Golden State of movie stars and environmental damage. I wish I didn’t suffer anxiety-related memory problems. I can’t change that, though. I can’t change spending an entire day driving down Pacific Coast Highway listening to “Circus” by Britney Spears, either.
When I was a freshman in high school, my sister got her license. She drove on the same streets we used to ride our bikes on. We drove under the same stars we grew up under, probably.
I think about how much of my life has happened in cars. I think about how my fears haven’t killed me like I thought they would.
I think about how much of my life has happened in cars. I think about how I don’t need to worry.
My pillow knows. My pillow knows the questions that never leave my lips. Questions like How much is too much? (Answer: Not enough.) or Why don’t people like poetry? (Answer: Poetry is the truth. People don’t like the truth.)
Answers, much like happiness, can be found even in the darkest places. Although, one question I can’t seem to find the answer to is How do I forgive you?
I’ve tried. I’ve tried exercise and art and even God Himself. The result is running in circles. I’ve tried holding it in. The result is depression. I’ve tried to hurt you back. The result is my heart slipping out of my fingertips at four in the morning. Another question. What if there is no cure?
When you stole the air out of my lungs,
When you had me clutching onto my heart,
When you gave me mental instability after I gave you my whole,
When you made me feel hate like I never have before,
How do I forgive you?
When the air is in my lungs,
When my heart is full and in the right place,
When my mind is free and,
When I feel lighter than before,
I found the answer.
I have to forgive you for me.
I do it for me.
You’re older so it’s harder to look after you. I like how our bodies fit together. I like the warmth. When I’m alone, it gets so cold. You remind of the color yellow. I don’t know what else to say. I’m sorry I don’t know how to express it. I’m sorry I apologize so much. I’m sorry for writing to you so late. All the good things, they all flow back to you. You’re older so it’s hard to fall for you.