Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Apr 2019
I still look for you in every truck that passes.

6 months and still no sign that you continue to exist in this world
in something more than my memory.

Did anyone ever tell you I was back in town?
Have you gone searching for me?
Do you know what you've done?

You don't know the risk that I take
every time I leave my house.
Preparing to succumb
to a numbness of flashbacks.
Still hoping that our lives
do not cross paths again.

But I'm ready,
nonetheless,
to plot my escape.
If ever we are boxed in;
in gas stations or supermarkets
in dog parks or local bars.
The bright red lights of each exit sign;
embedded into my memory.
They are the light at the end of a sunless journey.

My plans aren't guaranteed, though
because I don't know what I'd do
if I were to ever see your face again.
I think that'd I run.

It wasn't until today; 6 months later,
that I wondered why I've been looking
for the person that frightens me the most.

So I won't look at the trucks that I pass as I drive.

I don't care if you're in them.
Just an average day living with PTSD.
Written by
Kora Sani
642
     Bogdan Dragos and Zia
Please log in to view and add comments on poems