Tuesday, January 25, 2011

And talk to me like you don't know what we ever fought about..

"If you find yourself here on my side of town,
I pray that you'd come to my door.."

Suddenly I am reminded of the Java Joes parking lot. 
Of that Pennsylvania patchwork landscape stretching on forever. 
Of chasing sunsets. Splitting cigarettes. Jones sodas and beneath the medicine tree.

What was that?
Your homemade quilt spread out on the pavement.

(Were there streetlights there?) Incense and music pouring through the cracked window in your escort. 
(Didn't you flip that car?) 
Why did we do it?
Sometimes I wish we could be back there together.

We invented cinnamon Coca-cola that summer at Jenny's (that all-night diner). 
Shared everything. 

I wish I could have seen then how much you were entrusting me with. 

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