poetry.

we went to the lake

we went to the lake under the cover of darkness and we sat on the lakeshore, staring out over the water and at the city lights on the other side. I pointed out the places I would go with my family before things went so very wrong, and I sat still next to you and listened to you talk and breathe and spill your heart to the stranger that I am.
I told you things I don't say very much, with only the stars as our witness and the trees as our audience. you told me you've never done this before and I tell you it's nothing to be spun up about.
you talk to me about the horrors of your youth and I listen, because you may as well be narrating my own wretched life, but somehow we both ended up on this lakeshore far from where we came and we speak as though we are old friends, when I am as strange to you as you are to me.
the air was cool and silent that night, and I find myself out of place and out of mind. who was I to walk down here and sit next to you and tell you about my nightmares? to take you out here just so I can try to scare you away? to let you know that I am not someone you need to have close to you? it's doesn't make sense but I still do it anyway and pretend I don't already know everything you've said to me just by looking at you.
it gets late, and I say that we should probably go home. the morning comes too quickly these days, the night up and leaves at the first hint of daybreak and I wish my darkness could vanish that quickly as well. I know you do too, but I don't say anything. there are some things I know already but it is not my right to say them. things that I shouldn't know but already do. we say goodnight and promise to do this again sometime, and I take you back to your home.

I drive home silently that night, and I go to bed without another word.