Some days, I think about leaving it all behind...I'd burn all my photographs and memories, so there would be no evidence I ever existed...except for the fading memory of those who once knew me.
I'd load up my car with a few bare necessities, and just drive and drive...until I hit some random town that feels like home, and start life over from scratch.
I'd rent a humble little house on the outskirts of town, and furnish it with mis-matched, worn out furniture from the Salvation Army. I'd live a quiet, unassuming life...eating meals alone in a tiny kitchen, staring out the window as the sun shines through it's panes...appreciating my solitude in silence, before heading to my job as a waitress at a local ma & pa's greasy spoon.
I'd serve bitter afternoon coffee to old farmers with many stories to tell, and I'd listen intently to their memories of days gone by. I'd pocket my quarter tips, thankful for each and every penny.
I'd never tell my story, I'd lock it all away. My truth, my secrets, my own precious, painful memories. The stories of the triumphs and tragedies, the pleasure and the pain. I could pretend it all happened to somebody else, or was just a story I'd read in a book. And I'd wonder why there couldn't be a happier ending for the girl that was...
I'd change my name to Emma, and wear faded sun-dresses, sandals, and a big floppy straw hat. I'd sit in the city park on Sunday afternoons, with my dog and a book, waiting for nightfall to come. Then I'd go to my humble little home on the outskirts of town, crawl into my old worn out bed, and weep silently, as I mourned those I'd left behind.
Tags : personal,
sentimental Feelin' : alone
Wednesday
