the last ride home was hell disguised as heaven
with the rain washing away the handprints you left on my window
mist conquering where you once contemplated life in the seat next to me
replacing oranges with the calm

we’d crossed metaphorical oceans a thousand times before
our fingers interlocked as we traversed the rocky waters
but now, in this lonely car with a broken radio
the only water here is that of outside and of my tears

we used to be closer than this
if, by “closer”, we mean your ashes baked into the gem on my ring finger
I’d rather have your breathing body by my side right now
than a million gems crafted with your bones taking up space in the trunk

if there is a god watching down on us below
(I admit, that would be immensely creepy)
I hope that they will grant you clemency
or allow us to bunk in hell together, at least


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