i cannot map out.

looking through my twelvth grade musings i came across many that i was proud of.

but i found one i was very proud of. even if it is old. and isn't written as well as it should be.

reading through this is so strange. because i don't remember writing it. it came from some place i cannot map out. that i venture into each time i write. it is strange, indeed.

and we drive on.

it's been too long since i've seen you: three days and two hours and twenty-eight minutes.. and fourteen seconds. you must think i'm crazy that i remember that, but remember that i am in love and you have been gone.

you smell like your grandmother- old and stale, but only because you kept her company after papa's funeral. she never spent an ounce of money or time on you unless she needed something done. this time she needed her house cleaned out and a shoulder to cry on. lucky for her you are tenderhearted and don't hold onto bitterness like you hold onto me - tightly, with a firm grasp. with fiery eyes.

you kiss me gently on the cheek and i laugh quietly; you say i am beautiful. you take me by my hand and shout: you are beautiful! my face flushes with embarrassment and joy - not too loud, people will hear.

shifty uncertain eyes look into yours - but i'm glad you said it loud enough for that man in the black blazer to hear, he had been eyeing me, and i might have just gone over and..

i am silenced by your warm lips and closed eyes. i was joking, but now i'm just enjoying your embrace.

we walk to your car and you speak of veiled faces and a crowd dressed in black paying respect to papa. the sun was shining like suns shine in children's drawings, smiley face and all. there were no flowers at the funearl. he had written the only flowers he ever needed were the ones in his backyard, in his garden. he loved poppies, the cherry-colored kind, the kind that bewitched dorothy and her friends, had bewitched him. he carried a grace that your grandmother never possessed, never could possess. he kept her tantrums at bay. i'm afraid she'll have to be put away now, you say, in a home where she won't be lonely, where she'll be taken care of.

you open my door and ask me to shut my eyes as we drive away into the shoddy and vandalized city. you say it is a surprise.

i joke about our safety and you press your forehead against mine, breathe in my perfume, and say: trust me.

i do.

the door slams like the chiming of bells and we drive on.

this will be where we start a family and invite guests over to discuss fine literature and art. this will be where we kiss until the sun rises. this will be where we argue and make up. this will be where our children will plant poppies in remembrance of papa.