Tags
blog, blogging, Breakup, dry dirt, ex, journal, life, lonely stretch, love, mountains, mt lemmon, photos, poem, ugly people, university, zombies
This last lonely stretch of road.
You walked so slowly,
like you knew it would be the last time.
I wanted it to be over.
The torture of having you near, and having you, but not having you at all.
The sprinklers kicked on.
Neither of us fazed.
Like we were dead, but living on. Zombies I guess.
Being back on campus always brings me back to that night.
The night we walked around, without saying a word.
It was over.
Super over.
No more fighting,
no longer caring,
but hating every movement the other made,
convinced that somewhere in our actions was a message hidden just for the other to understand.
Burned by that.
Constantly burned by that.
I concluded you were the one.
The one that should be free
to screw anyone and everyone,
because even ugly people needed loving.
But it ached.
In a way, somewhere deep down I guess it always will.
We haven’t spoken.
Not really spoken.
Yelled.
Cried.
Cussed.
Hated.
Then ignored.
Hardcore ignored.
Slam it back in my face because I ignored / ignored.
Now it’s dirt.
Should I see you ever, it will surely turn to mud.
It might blind us a little, but wet or dry, dirt it will always be.
That which came from nothing…
Returned to nothing;
nothing more than a smudge mark.
That can never be cleaned away.
Mt. Lemmon, where I always went to get away.
-ducksoup- 