Late night, red-eye flight.

I burnt through the last of the high, the sort of high that overwhelmed me as I spun further away from the exit. I feel it now, vestiges of an old haunt that lock me still in a mind game of endless doors.

And there you lay, three hours south of my heart.

I close my eyes, tracing the winding freeways that lead me back to that summer in the county—fireflies and your brown eyes.

On the afternoon that you drove away, I watched the sky split open for the last time. From the empty street I had stared hard into the back window pane, salvaging a last glance at an ending that had never been mine.


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