sober love turned to turpentine. all things change with time. 

but the fires from idaho blew smoke in and it reminds me of the orange september, three years ago. the smoke hung in the air, obstructing the moon and the stars and the sun too. the streetlights cut through the smoke, tonight and that summer.

do you still love her?

sober love turned to turpentine. you were never mine.

the smoke smells just fine. i watch you check the time. did you look at me and picture someone else on your bed and in your clothes? i feel eighteen again, the red brick homes and silent roads. i had orange bedsheets then. and i was just another. mascara painted under my eyes after coastal humidity in the back of your car, i tell myself these lies:

sober love turned to turpentine. walking a fine line.

someone brought you up, and i think that it was me. the road outside my bedroom echoes sirens through my window. i echo the lessons i can't learn. i bathe in them like afterglow. "i'm wondering what you're thinking." exits off the highway, dirt roads, gas is twice as expensive now. grab my thigh as i cross the overpass. it cost me thirty-two cents to take you home. hover in the doorway, hover by the stairs, hover by my car, you let me drive away.

sober love turned to turpentine. i swear to god it's fine.

march twenty sixth, her arms around you. happy birthday at midnight, then the clock struck two. i can't keep making the same mistake. i promise i'm funny, i promise i'm smart. do you think i'm pretty, as pretty as her? this is a rat race, this is a dead end street, this isn't going anywhere is it? is it? will it? could it? tell me i'm wrong. did i remind you that i'll leave again, did i scare you away? would you love me truly and madly if i didn't? tell me or i'll make up the answers that keep me here in the smoke of summer wildfires, present and past.

sober love turned to turpentine. this hasn't changed with time.

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