There was only one time that I knew that kind of love and it was a figment of my imagination — it was still wonderful.
And for hours you’re just gentle on my mind.
Years. And years.
I traveled in my car to where we were — hunting for you. There you were in the same safe place you’d been all along. We tasted wine. You introduced me to crepes on our trip up the coast to the mile long speedway race in San Jose in a little cabin cafe in among the redwoods. There was a cat outside the window grooming in a patch of sun. We sat there in the bleachers at the race in a beautiful breeze and melded into one. We came back down the quick way in the middle of the green zone. You slept some while I drove.
We marked Enduro tracks for your upcoming race. No one was anywhere for miles and miles — just we two and sidewinder snakes. I made tuna fish sandwiches in the little teardrop we had dragged along. You came in dirty and ate one and we talked and you went back out again for another round. I missed you while you were gone but I had books to read for a history exam and did it so reluctantly — waiting for the sun to make it a little too dark for you to ride. I put a bandanna around my head and went for a run, hoping the snakes were hiding — when I got bored enough with history.
I was busy making my own.
One time you took me out and we tested the track you’d marked. You were flying ahead of me, scarcely looking back — when I flew over my handle bars, you didn’t see. I got up and just kept going, racing to try to catch you. Because of that, I learned to be a little braver — I didn’t want to lose you. I lost you anyway — not that I ever had you — it was all a figment of my imagination — except for when you kissed me or held me to your chest so that I could feel your heart beat.
You weren’t who I thought you were but I loved who was on my mind and while I danced that dance of silly dreaming of what we might become, I loved every minute and still look back and thank you. You came along to save me from a dreary life without you always on my mind.
Image credit: Abajo Enduro
Writing Spool 