picture this:
scribbles on paper that finally make sense
a leather-bound journal
filled with words worth saying.
neat handwriting.

picture this:
my ethics teacher
with his passionate words,
his kind eyes,
his shaking hands,
his dead son,
telling me that in the end
God is still good.

picture this:
me,
wanting to believe him,
wanting to stop his hurting.
not knowing how.

picture this:
paint splattered against a white backdrop
black, purple, blue
colored like a bruise.
chaos.

picture this:
the bruises still look like you.

picture this:
me, driving down a highway
stars in front of me
everything else behind.
I finally know what to do with myself.
not thinking of you for once in my life.

picture this:
you
coming home
and telling me
not a day has passed since you left
that you did not think of me.