The want

  Driving down the path and pushing through the leaves.  Tumbling over curves and through the dark nest of night.  I haven't seen you in days; the pushing and pulling of you storming through my mind in wrinkles and short shift reapeated flickers of film.  There is an urgency in the wanting.  To be seduced by you and desired in way that no one else is or will be-to be loved-to be the exception to every rule.  I hear noises from far away, cuddling into my open window and passing out on the shoulder of the road.  Presenting themselves in tight clusters of empty and emotionless hearts becoking to be loved and admired.  Their cries push beyond me and towards the hard street which rolls under my wheels.  I want to comfort them and help them along, but I don't know how and with every mile that passes I find myself growing more fond of the idea of you.  Secure in the notion soon, that you will hold me and tell me that everything will be alright-even if you have to lie.  The roads are open and clear this late at night.  You called me urgently a few hours before with that sad sound in your voice-in your throat-deep down in your windpipes calling towards the pressure from grief.  I pushed past everyone to get to the phone and when I answered, you were there with sighs and long tearful sobs.  As if someone had killed you; as if there was a permanent space made between you and the rest of the world; as if no one would or could save you from yourself and hope was just an illusion.  Grabbing my coat, I ran from the room and got into the car.  I whispered to myself, "I hope that it's not too late," beating out through the moonlit streets-roving in between the other cars until the street became desolate and lonely.  Pulling into your driveway, I noticed the silence.  I rapidly walked to the front door and rang the bell.  No answer.  I pushed at the door and it opened, as if we had been waiting for me to arrive.  As if you knew my exact location and the sound of my voice through the wind.  No light.  I did not stop to flick them on or to check their location.  I walked in a rush to find you.  You were my only endeavor or concern.  Fallen in the corner of the kitchen, I find you.  An empty bottle by your side.  I wake you and you smile at me, small wrinkles lining up in the corner of your eyes like a wise old man let alone to endure the cold.  I help you to bed, rocking you back to sleep with the lull of a song.  I lay next to you and hold you hand as the restless sky above us wavers and all I see is my fading youth.