strange angels

It’s been twenty-one years now since the night we sped drunk down back roads singing Just Like Heaven at the tops of our lungs, fresh from a David Bowie concert and nowhere near the brink of sleep.

I don’t know where you are in this world anymore but pictures of you live in boxes on my shelves and just so you all know, sometimes I think of lighting them on fire.

You were never any good for me, from the day you came from California you were like its fault lines ready to crack me open, waiting.

This was written for Tri-Writing with Maya Stein, 3 lines for 21 days. + Photo by Marek Studzinski on Unsplash

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