Stronger Than Evocative

All I feel is the wind and rain slapping me in the face along to the music of Ben Folds. The gray sky is going to try trapping me here, I just know it. This town wants me. Its gravity has hold of me tightly, but I will find a way out. I will cut the cords of this lesson-less repetition and run.

Please Select Fuel Type

I am reminded, here, of when I was just a girl. Not a girl playing hop-scotch in church dresses, but the girl who thought she was a woman. A girl who had boundaries and kept them—who imagined things, and left it at that. She made mistakes, I imagine, but she probably used to regret them.

Remove Nozzle and Begin Fueling

Sometimes I remember feeling like home here. When it didn’t decide to move away from me. But mostly, I kept running anyway. And I will still. Because I had left and found new comforts, a new kind of solace. I had made new memories; doing everything I could to erase the old, good ones. There was a time when a year was nothing—a piece of cake. I could give up on my failed explanations, and start fresh. But I know that gibberish is for New Year’s Eve suckers. Fresh start is just a fancy way of saying you might finally be. . . okay. But just like that, "okay" didn't seem like very much at all.

Would You Like a Receipt?
No.

I can feel the pressure beneath my gas pedal, and my stomach turns. I am weaker than I thought. I am stronger than I thought. This is goodbye again, and I know it’s going to be a long one. The relief sets in as the buildings vanish and I’m allowed to imagine I’m anywhere. It’s quiet, comfortable, and I am almost back. But I left most of myself where it where won’t leave. In that insecure, evocative, walking home.


I near my street and am flooded with the lights of the city. But, no matter what, all I can see are those little, red, fluorescent lines that make up the stagnant image of 3:07a.m.