she doesn't bother with goodbyes.

she was tearing her hair out.
Originally uploaded by another year ∞

i took a bus to this city and thought back on some things my grandmother told me. She said they put a soul in everybody, and I started to believe that maybe some invisible hand peeled back my skin and cracked my ribs and poured mine into me. And somewhere along the line, back when we were kings, I was careless and tore a gash in my chest because it's become clear that I've been letting it spill out for the past year and a half. I know I haven't been able to steady my hand for about a week, but I had this dream that a blue jay found its resting place on the concrete beneath me. I swear it was screaming, but I couldn't make out what it meant to tell me. I took a plane to this city and studied a picture of the subway. I was astounded that a cartographer spent his days mapping a world based around synergy, and remembered that in this very same bus seat, I met a girl with the most honest eyes I'd ever seen. She gave me a flower and said to always keep it with me. It still sits on my dresser; it watches me while I sleep. I know I haven't looked you in the eyes for a week or so, but I have this reoccurring dream that you might die of an overdose, and I can't shake the image of you there, cold and alone. All I wanted was the 4:17 bus to downtown and to watch the night turn buildings blue, but the woman across the aisle from me is crying. "I'm so sorry, Miss, but there's nothing I can do."

winter dies the same way every spring.
so between a misinterpretation of the "Left and Leaving" album
and this microcosm of my own confusion,
maybe I should consider phoning her.