Let’s go 90 on I-10. Fuck the cops. The beach feels right. Who cares that it’s February and overcast. Who cares that our lives are on the line. There is a road. There is a car. There are these hours we don’t know what to do with. There’s your mouth on the can again. There’s you lifting up the joint to my mouth again. There’s you getting lost in the moment again. There I go pulling The Devil card again. Who cares that we are not in love. We will never see each other again, but there’s this photo I have of us after we finally made it to the beach. After we stop for breakfast tacos that drip grease on my car seats. There I go again. Turning this night into a myth I can pass down to anyone who has ever risked it all for what you thought was love, but really, it was limerence. It’s always limerence. I have a hard time wrangling in all this want. Maybe that’s why I am so drawn to deserts, oceans, and sky, the extremity of it all. When you find someone else who hates themselves as much as you, things only end as well as you can imagine.
