Memory (Pry, To)

You stare out my car windows.

You hate how they are always open. How your hair blows into your face. How the wind rushing into my car makes this heart beat sound sometimes.

But it's not that now. It something else. You are thinking of something. Some time I may or not remember. May not recall even if you asked.

You stare out the car windows and there is this silence I don't quite understand. This quiet that is too loud. It's shattering.

I'm taken back. I hear the voices in my head arguing over some such event or another. Some such mistake I have been told I have made. Some falter.

I hear you say, "really is that all you can say?"

I feel you leave my room, slam the bathroom door. I hear your tears.

You're already gone in this vision of past tense. You're already gone and it's days later in my memory. I'm sitting in my room looking through this note book, this scrapbook. Looking through pictures of memories, words past by ink and paper. Memory is a funny thing in that it isn't always in your head.

I remember reading one, "i love you" it says on the bottom.

I remember another, it says to me, "i can't trust you anymore"

I remember another one, see the memory, "too far."

I remember hitting the wall next to my closet. I remember the hole it made. The Kroq sticker still covers my anger. Rage.

You're staring out the open window, your hair is in your eyes, on your lips, you say, "I love you".

I remember that feeling.