you’ve never smoked a cigarette after a sleepless night,
watching the mist creep back into the trees.
watching the haze slowly evaporate,
to reveal nothing more.
you’ve never stared tired and aching out a window into California mountains,
gray skies and muffled blankets of snow,
cold glass to your forehead,
Upward Over the Mountain on repeat.
you’ve never made love to her,
you’ve never looked up at his blonde hair in the late-afternoon sunlight,
you’ve never, you’ve never whispered their names,
you’ll never hear them say yours.
you’ve never smoked a cigarette after a sleepless night
looking down an unfamiliar road
with no promise of home at either end.
there’s so much I don’t know how to say,
watch the mist.
I’ll try to explain.
