Sometimes I drive through the city at night.
There is no reason or purpose.
The smell of night and I listen in silence.
There is a sadness.
The kind of moment made of whispers that no one else will hear.
I roll down the street.
The city lights in the distance and all I can think of is you.
And the earth turns gently and with reason even though you are not beside me.
I remember your words. Begging for me.
Please please please you tell me.
You say it like I owe you.
Like I am the one who left.
Flashes of half felt and unmet images pass within me.
I see a funeral.
I see a laugh and a boy I fell in love with.
I see the man I begged to come.
All these things that you will never know and did not care to remember.
In the house on the hill, the home in the hole, the rooms built of stone I found you.