No traffic down memory lane

And I got a longing so deep it numbed my senses, and I stopped paying attention to the navigation directions on the phone by my leg even though I was gliding down the freeway

It stretched every hair on my arms and legs and tingled to the tips of my toes, tearing its way through my body like the tires against the asphalt

And the friction was proof that my hands gripping the steering wheel are real, and I let the phone drop down into the crevasse between the seat and the middle console and cursed, out of reflex, brought down to reality, to the cars in front of me and around me

The longing continues; I tell myself no, and turn up the radio, but it’s a song that reminds me of a time years ago when I was a whole different person and so I smack the off button; I can’t bear the idea of her, the old me, the me who didn’t know better and didn’t know what I know now

And I must carry it with me, my burden; decide each day what it is about; the burden of longing and wanting and picturing and having to write about it, incessantly

And well today it’s the winding open roads and the memories they bring – I feel your hand on my thigh as if a ghost is here, physical mourning at its simplest. If this was a game it’d be a draw because I’m not losing, no, because my memory is living proof that it happened

And I can touch my leg where you touched it before and know, know for a fact we are maybe not touching the exact same patch of skin but close enough, close enough.

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