I glance back at her,
see her staring.
I shrug.
"What,"
I ask flatly.
"I just see you staring out the window,
and I want to know what you're thinking,"
she says.
I shrug again.
What I'm thinking?
I see a car with an
(guilt)
out-of-state plate
and Chevrolet scrawled across the back.
I see familiar highway
(anger)
stretching out
in all the cardinal directions.
I see the grass poking up.
(sadness)
I turn back and I see you,
(guiltangersadnessguiltangersadnessguiltangersadness)
and I wonder if when you hear these songs,
you're thinking of him too.
But I just leave it at a shrug
and a mumbled "nothing really,"
not really wanting to know the answer.
(painpainpain.)

a/n: I don't really want to know her reaction.