The last heat wave of summer came on like a sickness. It made us lose ourselves just a little. You said, LA is like a frame of mind rather than a place, empty parking lots and citrus trees no one picks. Second chances hinge on what time you made it home last night.
You were the only thing I thought about back then. You talked a lot about where you might go. And then you’d laugh and say there was no where left for us to go. We’d all gone as far as the land was ever going to let us.
We drove around with the windows down until the sunset somewhere we couldn’t see, sweat soaked and hungry for each other, too hot to actually touch. If I’d have known that Tuesday you were actually going to leave, I would have driven you all the way home, and asked if I could go with.
Sometimes someone says, they’ve seen you lately, laughing up in San Francisco or maybe it was Sacramento. Either way, I’d give a lot of whatever I got left do things with you again.