(memory:) winter is announced in the first streetlight-smears against the dark street and smell of cold in the air so i backtrack to find a scarf and later while i lock the door (key-click-shut-safe satisfying in my hand/the slight burn of cold metal brushing my fingertips) i wonder where you are before i turn my back on the rain-dappled door and search for patterns in the way traffic signals bleed techni-water-colors on the asphalt from inside the car.
(dream:) in the car, i am on my way to find you and if i find myself along the way it's just as well. the pavement's wet but the rain is gone and a crescent moon is out— if you'd only look into the sky you'd see incompletion is nothing to be afraid of because it's the shape of what we lack that holds us to the structure of what we will become, the way constellations are really formed in the spaces between stars and the way trips are made in the distances between sodium streetlamps while improbable water lands in a love song on the concrete.

a/n: probably influenced by listening to the Glass Passenger while it was raining.