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The bleak winding road, nightmares return, the memories of you.

It's always in tragedy two lovers meet


The bleak winding road, nightmares return, the memories of you.

You play with the radio dial changing it from the game to instrumental the cello blares a sad mellody. I turn and see your face and my stomach gives a quick sharp pain, every time I look at you, I know that you were made for me and I want to be the best for you. I watch a slow change come over your face. The corners of your upturned lips begin to sink and you stare that fifteen mile stare that you sometimes do, your eyes seem to collect water the bright brown of your irises turn a somber dark brown. You close them, dropping your head, you begin to play an invisible cello with your fingers, softly, almost hiding the emotion behind it and that warm sunny liss goes off to seas unknown.


The cello is playing something cold I can almost see my breath as it fogs up the front windshield. I look over again at you with your eyes closed concentrating on imaginary strings so real I can see the cello in-between your crossed legs. You are mechanical in your movements nothing giving off the slightest thought of intention. And you begin to desolve into that imaginary instrument until the only thing left in the car is me and a pair of fingers plucking at silent strings and a head playing to the music. And then suddenly as the music stops, you stop, and I see the warmth flow back into you and you open your eyes and come to as a sleeping child awakes from a car ridden dream he'll never remember.

( I love your face baby.)

Damn babe, where do you go when you do that? Your eyes blink trying to orient yourself to the car and me again and you turn, half in a daze and ask, " When are we going to get there?" In about fifteen minutes. "look up there," I lean and point out the window. " Can you see on top of that hill the boulder with the stick under it? My brother stuck it under there years ago, can you see how from here it looks like that stick is the only thing keeping it from crashing down on to the road? I can't believe it's still there, people must really think that's all that's keeping it there."


We drive on after a bit. I have the radio turned back to the game. Byu is winning 6 to 4 in the lacrosse game. And you lean over and switch it off. Hey! I was listening to that, babe?

' I'm tired of listening, its boring, a bunch of sweaty grown kids trying to score a meaningless game because they are still too afraid to touch women.

I shrug it off because I had the game recording on the DVR anyways...
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JohnnySpot · 56-60, M
In my opinion, with a little editing it is art.
Lostpoet · M
@JohnnySpot I know everything I write is pretty raw I need to start hitting the grammar books again.
JohnnySpot · 56-60, M
J D Salinger says to write any way you want.
Lostpoet · M
@JohnnySpot He also believed in keeping everything clean and I'm not in a very clean place right now to write. I'm a big fan of Salinger too.