Miscellaneous Thoughts

rearview mirror

I always enjoyed driving with you. The fluorescent streetlights would cast sharp shadows across your cheeks, and the red glow from the brake lights on the car in front of us would ignite a flurry of color that would glint across your grin. You'd grasp my hand in my lap and glance up at me as the stoplight's burning gaze broke through the windshield.

When it would rain, the heavy water drops would pattern against the glass. Silky constellations traced the panes, glittering across the tar asphalt, blanketing the buildings in the plaza we'd just driven by. Your fingers would trail down my arm to my hand, then to my inner thigh, where the pads of your fingertips would murmur across my exposed skin. I'd shiver, twining my hand with yours to occupy it and halt the windstorm fluttering through my stomach.

You always knew how to send my cheeks aflame, to make me furiously grin as I looked at my feet, counting how many breaths it took to regain my composure. Somehow you always knew how to do anything with me. To me.

One time in the middle of January, I remember sitting in your car with the heat blasting as the snowflakes outside dusted the windshield. They'd melt pretty quickly, probably because the window was hot from the heater, and we just sat there. Your eyes left patches of heat all over my skin as they traced my figure, finally reaching my eyes. Nebulas glinted in your iris as I stared at you. A Radiohead song was playing over the speakers and with every note, you'd do something to set me alight.

Your fingers brushed my cheek and I could feel every beat of your heart with every blink of your focused eyes. They were focused so sharply on me.

Every second that passed led to the distance closing. Your hand tangled in my hair, your nose brushing mine. And then we were kissing.

We don't kiss anymore. Your lips don't trail from my jaw to my neck to my chest. Your scent is no longer engraved in my memory. Your eyes have long since glanced in my direction. We aren't us anymore.

And now I can't get in a car without stabbing pain to my abdomen. I can't glance in my rearview mirror without glimpsing a bright glare across the glass. I can't hear the engine flip without hearing your deep chuckle.

I shouldn't do this. I shouldn't obsess over a dead person.

Yet, here I am, writing to the one person who'll never pen me back.

•

I literally don't know who this is about or why I wrote it?????? It's just like a concept that was in my head???? Most of the time when I write I'm just writing randomly off the top of my head, so yeah, enjoy? Don't? Idk.

love,
spacygem