you know, it's funny; tonight i was driving back to an empty apartment and one of your songs for me came through the speakers a bit too loud, just the way you liked it. the one about the girl who fled virginia for the west coast and the desperation to keep her close, mentioning the kempsville back roads and the boardwalk that we used to drive around ourselves. you said it was going to happen, i was going to leave virginia and you with it and flee to the pacific. and it's funny; you were right. i did exactly that, no matter how many times i tried to laugh at your vision of my future. you were always right.
and what's even more funny: you live further west than i ever have, surrounded by the mountains i am desperate to see, and i'll be returning to that commonwealth i was desperate to get away from. and it's almost a poetic justice. that i'm going back and you're the one half a world away. but this time, i won't be climbing through the windows of houses on indian river road anymore, or packing bongs in the snow in a greenbrier backyard, or watching the curls that would spill over that gentle curve of your lip in that house off of lynnhaven where we first met. no, i'll get to see the gentle curves of the east coast mountains, perhaps softer than yours ever were. i'll watch cherry blossoms fall soft and sweet, better than the way i fell for you. and you'll be in some spotlight in anchorage, making her laugh harder than i ever did. and that's okay with me.
full title: you were the one all moonshine and drawl, but i get appalachia and you get alaska.
i still have the notebook you gave me when you told me to never stop writing. signed, your babygirl.
well here i am, writing to you, my most special muse. i hope you're happy out there; i really do.
inspired by "california gold rush" by audiostrobelight and the poetic prose i used to write.
11/11/2021. (make a wish.)