Tuesday, March 27, 2012
It's a sunset after a thunderstorm and I can't help but stare at the veins in your hands. On my way home I think about the driveway where your car sits and the gravel that cradles your tires while they're worn and tired from the 80 mile drive. I clutch the wheel at ten and two and look at how white my knuckles are. You are so pale.