when he asked if I wanted to drive deep into the mountains
if I wanted to go down back roads and across forgotten trails
if I wanted to drive past every lost monument that wasn't littered with the names of children who let go of themselves, etched into the cool pavement with black ink,
I said no,
because those names,
those monuments,
spark of a memory I don't share a psychological bond with
it brings me back to days I didn't walk through
the smell of the paint almost dry
carries me on a breeze that's cold as ice from the lack of my touch.

I didn't live in those memories.
but the stain they leave behind,
the valleys I walked through were covered limb to limb in the acrylic drippings of time
and I am here just moments later
moments after the show began
the finale lingers in the leaves
covering each berry in hues of gray

I didn't live there.
but I won't go further from this spot till it returns.
so when you ask me to run away with you,
I only wish you could hear the sound my nails make, the scraping and scratching,
clawing at years I didn't live to see.
air I wasn't there to breath
footprints that were walked over many times before my arrival.

when you ask me to let go,
I only wish you could hear the earth telling me to stay.