October 4, 2002. I wrote this about 5 days after she left.
They are all leaving
I remember the last time she left
It was raining and September
I went back to my car and slammed the door and looked into her window
She saw me and pressed her lips against the glass
She patted the palms of her hands with her fingers
Waving good bye It looked so dark in that car
The only light in that dark interior
Was the gold cross she always wore on her neck
I could see it shining against her silhouette
She leaned back in the seat
I watched the wheels twirl and kick up drops that arched
They feel back unto the pavement and into anonymity
I sat until I couldn’t hear her engine anymore
I wonder now like I did then if I’ll ever see her again
She’ll write I know it
Off to the beaches I can’t go though
No beaches for me at least for a while
My heart keeps me prisoner to this place
My mountains and valleys My heart bled into the soil
My triumph
My failures
My mountains and valleys
That drink up the rain and shrug it off
They remind me of who I am
What I am to become
No I can’t look over the water and see as far as the eyes can see
The mountains are in the way
Like I don’t even know when the day has started
If the sun is up yet
Maybe it hides behind the mountains
Maybe I hide behind the mountains to.
I wonder now rereading this how much it reflects on today. Often I wonder if I've gotten to comfortable with the familiarity of my hometown. Will I leave that security one day? I'm curious. I guess I'm anything as long as it isn't facing the real problem.