[ Good ] byes ~

Nighttime road trips were our rebellion senior year,

his lips poised in that semi-permanent half-smirk,

as though being reckless was not an option but a lifestyle,

his eyes caught between mine and the curving lane ahead

as we glided by familiar road signs from time to time --

But then again, what was time to us?

It was as meaningless as the glove compartment's name,

as empty as the 2 a.m. road before us.

Saginaw,

Hemlock,

Merrill,

Breckenridge,

Gone.

Or at least we'd pretend to be             gone.

Muffled music dusted the air between us,

and I nodded my head ever so slightly,

unsure of whether I was keeping time

or merely counting passing telephone poles,

the type of music I came to enjoy

because never once did I hear it as we drove.

Until whispers of "let's not go back"

began to drown out the soft sound of that music,

with "let's not go back" soon growing

into "let's not go back yet" and then giving way

to "is it really time to go back?"

Breckenridge,

Merrill,

Hemlock,

Saginaw,

Home.

Or at least we'd pretend to be            home.