I used to walk up and down those streets. I thought I was happy.
Sometimes he would walk with me. We never held hands.
We didn’t need to.
I was eighteen. I still feel the cool desert air kiss my skin. I still see him in the glow of the street lamps.
He started to unravel the rope, thread by thread. Until all that was left coming out of my heart was a single thread of spider’s silk. It’s one of the strongest materials on Earth. It could hold a car, or a building, and be taut.
There was a flash of the shears. Blood. But from me, not a single tear.
I blinked. He looks down.
He didn’t even know he was holding the scissors.
And his ocean of sorrow parted. He crashed and stormed and thundered around me. But I stood still. Unmovable. Still as stone.
I am feeling lost. I’m desperate to hold onto the things that keep me grounded. A kind voice on the phone, my camera and cigarette in one hand, my coffee in the morning. When the world around me is shifting, an earthquake quaking below my feet, I dig my nails into my skin. Searching for gravity, for weight. Any sort of stability to keep my feet on the ground.
It’s dangerous being free.
I believe in the country America used to be. I believe in the person I want to become. I believe in the freedom of the open road.
We had nothing to lose, nothing to gain, nothing that we desired anymore.
What do you believe in?
❤ Callie Lee