We drove to the most conscious-deprived town with our windows down and two lit-up cigarettes. We spoke silence as we let the speakers sang the song that could have been the words we had been looking for. There were occasional glances, but nothing more than a fierce stare. I was hoping for some locked fingers, but we were too busy mending the void.
“My best summer so far,” I apologized for the abrupt slip. It was 2am and my tongue was loose, but you had to understand. Nobody became an immediate fighter in a sudden death.
I looked above the crestfallen blue skies; it had strokes of deep dusk I was used to. The midnight grew darker until I could only feel the heat of your breath over the tensed space.
You turned left and the road changed into the path I wished to forget. “Don’t, please,” I whispered as you sail to my house.
At least let me feel the thunders of your lips before you go; for the last time, make me remember my defeat.
WORD COUNT: 177
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