The beginning of our end

The+interior+of+my+car+saturated+in+blue.

Meghan Kennedy

The interior of my car saturated in blue.

I was watching cars pass on the road beside me, while an aching glow kept a careful eye on me. My bones seemed to mutate with the frigid pavement of my driveway as I lay sheltered beneath a skyline of stark silhouettes and a white speckled palette. 

Words relentlessly drained into my digital diary as I simply observed how the world never shifted in its movements, despite the limelight that shone on my sobriety. Each detail took on a new line, each internal voice resembled a word, each thing I thought gave more life to my fingers.

My pants, hastily stuffed into the tops of my ill-condition boots, cradled me. Strands of hair escaped my cap’s hug and greeted my coat-clad shoulders. I was only with my garments and solitude. 

Though the sky above tenderly quilts everyone into its presence, I continued to let myself believe that I was alone in its infinite patterns. The last heather hue the day embroidered into the sky left me, the blood orange bindings of dusk, to yearn for light to stay. I wanted to sew the sun with my words, but rather moved the sallow moon with my elegy. 

It was just me, the blue-tinted girl, with no flowers left to pick. Then, I thought of you; a green, bright you.

Your emerald smile glazed the moment where I and the placid, sapphire world meshed together into the only thing immortality knew.

You let me find the comfort I needed under the navy sky’s omniscience, hanging below the angelic grip of a star. I relied on you to dress me in the blush of a good moment to come. You reminded me that every day isn’t a basket of peaches, but rather a field of fruit trees yet to bloom.

It was just me, the blue-tinted girl, with no flowers left to pick.”

I have a new fondness for the blues the night has to offer and the peace tethered to its shadows, but what happens from there?

Though I find the thought of you frequently, there are periods where you don’t show, no regard for my storm that needs taming. The cold you let fill in your blank infects me, halts me to a stop, erases my momentum, and I don’t know why you let that happen.

The earth always spins even when you are not there, so I can orbit without you too. I can stay here, leaning on my car, wrapped in my coat under a cold night sky that I have grown to admire. I’ll even let the aching lights guide me through burning depths. You don’t always need to be there for me, and that is now crystal clear.

Yes, it’s true that the world never shifts in its movements, but this time, I will. You intoxicate me with an immeasurable amount of desperation for what is not fathomable. You have morphed into an unhealthy habit, a cactus green that gashes me.

I am still grateful for you, but until we see each other again, I’m not letting you cloud my gratitude for words I think and type, for living presently in my seasons, for loving every temperature each moment provides—I will not live jaded under your double-edged sword anymore.

So here I am, the blue-tinted girl with no flowers left to pick, changing my mind.