 |
|||
|
|
 |
|
 |
 |
|
||
|
|
|
||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
||
|
|
 |
|
|
|||||||||||||||||
 |
|
by Sarah Ellen I left town and drove all day, Stopping only for meals and bathroom breaks. I kept the radio on, but my thoughts were louder, And I knew all the songs anyway. Wisconsin wound round all the hills and woods while I drifted in and out of road reveries, thinking Of what I leave behind every summer in lieu of education. Illinois lingered on forever, and Somewhere in the middle of the corn and road construction I made the decision to write this, even if you don't respond. After eight hours of internal deliberation it was a quite Palpable relief to see the border of Indiana, funny, isn't it? It looks The same. The rest of my trip was more of a homecoming than was My return to Minnesota last May. I've settled in, and it's taken me a long time to muster up The courage I need for this confession. This is a moment of Fragility, the vulnerability I express now you most likely won't see again. I fear you tolerate my presence out of kindness, pity, Because you don't know what else to do. If I should stop seeking you I doubt you would seek me. Your response to this shall either be confirmation of my fear, or Laughing at my self-centered naiveté. To me neither of these is Palatable. I am afraid of what you will say, of what you will not say, but I anxiously wait for your reply. |
|
|
|
|||||||||||||||
|
||||||||||||||||||||
 |