Much more than grief after death

More than affection heightened by new love

I just want the chance to feel.

Feel again, what I remember from isolated car rides.

The isolation of driving down the 101,

The moment before sunbreak and the safety of anonymity disappears.

 Feel again, at what seemed to be stored, inside wooden wheelbarrows,

storing life like hallowed whisky.

Many don’t make it past the maturation process of the aged wooden cylinders.

The deafness of the conversation, mandates my lack of correct words

All that remains are an empty pack of cigarettes and a 40oz from movie night.

Who could have believed adolescent’s made it past 25.

We were never snug, never nestled in two, like a pack of Twix.

Never attached like keys, inside your pocket

The freedom of space, is a lowly lie indeed,

But an emotion non the less.


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