Thinking of you is the equivalent of being on a spinning ride of a carousel. I sit down on it’s uncomfortable interior and place my hands on the wheel, stressing my muscles and redying them for the ride ahead. I put my right hand criss-crossing with my left and pull, straining my brown and closing my eyes tight. The world around me is only slightly off-centered and it makes me light headed. I pull against the wheel faster and faster until I feel my body shift, and then I take a deep breathe and tell myself to open my eyes. My stomach is tightening around the feeling of hopelessness as I attempt to grasp my surroundings.

Spin.

I can see you walking towards me with that smile on your face, saying my name as if your vocals came from that of a fucking angel.

Spin.

I can smell your house. I can see its’ mess. I feel myself walking up the stairs to your bedroom and flopping on your bed as you pick up your guitar.

Spin.

I’m hanging out of your window ashing a cigarette as you play a mediocre song. You sing to me.

Spin.

I can see the countless times we met up just to go to school together. Oh! How inseparable we once were!

Stop! I put my arms to a halt, the right isn’t over yet. I am frustrated. My face has suddenly been beaten by my tears and the harsh wind that pressed against my swollen skin. Left arm criss-crossing my right, I push into the opposite direction.

Faster. Faster. Faster. Push! Don’t stop!

You’re on your way to my house. A woman is on her way home from a bar.

Spin.

 She’s driving so fast. You never even had a fucking chance.

Spin.

You cross the street to sanctuary, completely oblivious to your surroundings with your music blaring from your head phones. Please! Someone help! She’s going to get hit!

Spin.

Your body makes impact with the vehicle and scalps your beautiful head of hair. You fly over the car and hit the ground. Oh, God it happened in seconds and  that precious life of yours, taken!

Spin.

I’m at your viewing at I’m looking at a stranger. You aren’t my beautiful best friend. You aren’t her. Where are you? Why did this happen? My ankles go weak, my legs become rubber. I cannot stand. I will not stand. I’m finding reasoning difficult and I’m finding motion pointless.

Spin! Spin! Spin!

Your mother collapses on your coffin begging for you to come out when all I can do is stand there in the back ground and be completely and utterly helpless to a woman who I once saw as a mother of my own. Two completely different relationships and yet our grief feels just as bottomless and never-ending.

My arms are weak, now. My back is slumped against its’ bars. My face is bright red and heated from my desperation. My hair is plastered to my face by my tears. This ride is over, and yet nothing has changed. My hands let go of the wheel and my arms fall to my sides. This ride is over.