It’s rare nowadays to find beauty in such an industrialized world when smoke clouds the air and fills your lungs. But driving down a road in the middle of the night and listening to an unknown song can finally allow you to breathe and see the beauty in the darkness; the girl who yells profanity at her beloved but knows she will always return to him; the face that appears in the smoke.
I have learned at last that happiness is not an obtainable entity, but rather a state of being, just as hell is not a location but something that you carry with you.
I can feel my own hell start to pass through the wonderful ache in the soles of my feet as I feel strangers hands on my hips and waist and remember when the only hands on my body were those of softness and familiarity. I remember you. I remember you from a time when your hair was as dark as the night sky and you told me every day that I was beautiful until one day you stopped and told me that I was too much for you, too much.
I remember the waves of hurt pulsing through my veins as I thought of my button-up shirts driving you away. I cut my hair the very next day because I couldn’t stand to be your version of me anymore.
And I am not, I never was. And here, driving through the darkness and feeling the rivets in the road and the stars above me pulling me away, I know that she is there.
I know that she believes I am. I am. I am. And I know that she will love the stars as much as I and that she will love my button-up shirts and the way I hold her hand. And I know, with complete certainty, that she is here.