6 a.m., day after Christmas. I throw some clothes on in the dark, the smell of cold. Car seat is freezing. The world is sleeping. I am numb
Up the stairs to the apartment, she is balled up on the couch. Her mom and dad went down to Charlotte. They’re not home to find us out. And we drive. Now that I have found someone, I’m feeling more alone than I ever have before.
She’s a brick and I’m drowning slowly. Off the coast and I’m headed nowhere. She’s a brick and I’m drowning slowly.