The way you smiled at him is still painted on me like burn marks

The image twists itself in favor of my pessimistic mind each time it surfaces like an ugly drawn out slideshow about the progression of lost hope

-your eyes getting softer, chasing your lips-

-his hand getting closer to your hips-

If I could control everything in this world I would lose my mind but if it would ease this troubled mind I would make every decision in your favor

I sat in the drivers seat waiting

waiting for a passenger

I knew if the gear shift ever left neutral without a life worth protecting seated carefully in one of the four seats that the tiny, two door, import sports car was going to find itself unmoving for an eternity and still in fifth gear.

in a ditch, against a wall, around a tree, the first thing I would have seen once that tiny, two door, import sports car and I reached one hundred and eleven miles per hour