Snaking its way through your life, there’s a road that comes and goes. From time to time it calls out your name as you walk head down pretending you couldn’t care less. But underneath it all, you’re just seconds away from falling apart. You’re that same little girl curled up in bed wishing with all you had for the horrors of the night to finally come to an end. Under the covers with your eyes shut tight and your toes curled into a ball, you’re wishing for someone to reach in and lift you to safety before the monster comes and turns you to stone. This bubble. This version of you, it’s the core of you, and although you try so hard to pretend otherwise, the past continues to haunt you the same as it haunts me. It’s tragic how this thing plays out at times, but that’s just how it is. Down alleys that blossom into fields where children play with little interest in anything other than their own sense of self, we walk without words and leave our ghosts behind for the years that will surely creep up on us when we least expect them to. Beneath those branches of inquisitive trees that have witnessed so many of our transformations, we unravel and come together and fight and kiss in the time it takes to reach the greasy spoon where we eat and speak with the language of silence and knowing looks alone. When you show the thinnest slither of a smile, I lean forwards and dab the corners of your mouth while looking into those tricky brown eyes. You twist your head and refuse my gesture, but when my fingers grip your chin and squeeze tight, you know my intentions are nothing to be sniffed at. When we make love and my fingers grip your feet and you howl in disdain, you know it’s wrong but I’m a writer and what I say goes. For those who don’t agree, go do what you do best and do something useless. The road, it comes and goes without warning. It takes us with it and leaves us exactly where we were.