I think a lot about that car accident you were in.
Reckless country boy, the feel of broken glass in your mouth
and the smell of fresh grass. You saved your cigarette
and something saved you.

I think a lot of your mother's love, orderly and cool.
I think of you, alone, wrapped in tangled sheets and tears.

yesterday when you told me your pup was the best thing that ever happened to you-- I believed you.

My favorite place is the passenger seat of your truck.
I hate the boys who hurt you. And I hate you when you're your own self-destruction.

I love the sound of our laughter, sweet smoke in our lungs, and the blood in our veins. I love our mingling spirits and shared cigarettes.

(I named my unborn child after you. You're the force of nature I've always dreamed of meeting.)

The mistakes we make have made us bold. They make us look onward and upward, to the stars and the moon and our future. They keep us young and free. They call to me in the early mornings, in each first snow of winter, in every evening spent at libbey's.

I think of what scares me, and I think of you, and
none of this is as bad as it seems. I promise.