these empty streets

seem to be further

barren when

you’re sitting in

your room behind

the thin

glass pane and here

I am standing in

acquiescence,

trying not to forget our

miniscule memories

together.

I can see your light on

because you always

wanted that hope

in the dark

but the stars are out here

shining like

a sprinkle of water across the night sky

just disrupting the

crisp despondency

of the dark.

do you remember

we took that dingy

plaid blanket from

your mom’s trunk and

drove to the park, just

to watch the sky fall asleep?

or when we got out

of that movie really late

and wandered around on the

county roads,

as empty and desolate as

my heart, which is no longer inhabited

by you?

you used to complain about

your prison cell,

but I could tell you liked

the security

that thin window gave you.

you didn’t have much else to rely on.

do you see me out here?

we can go on another one

of our drives

off into the dark.

I’ll have you back by the morning,

I promise.

what if the sky lit up?

would you

finally

turn your light off?

would the sky be bright enough

for you

if a meteor came striking down

onto the surface

of our home?

if the sky lit up

in a brilliance of oranges and reds

and pure, evangelical whites

who would you run to?

am I still an option?

or was your desertion of me

utterly intentional?

that’ll never happen.

the meteors are indifferent

to our survival which

could mean that they won’t

try and wedge a hole

in our home.

but if by chance

it means the meteors will

speed into us,

all I know

is I wouldn’t want to

spend my last minutes

with anyone else.