I made a list of bridges & highways I would need to cross before I can finally say I’m out of these ohso beautiful state borders.

The hours of marathon conversations didn’t make it in the list not because I found those moments acceptable losses, but because a part of me that I’m not fond of believes that those conversations will not die. They are just on hold. We will have them again, I thought. Some distant time from now, when all of the trouble here is checked out & deported, we’ll start talking again, only talking, like before.

But I’m not so sure anymore. I would hate to think that he only revealed that side of him & disclosed all these conversational angles just because he briefly found me worth more than a good platonic time. Having ceased that, the silence takes over. That would really be too bad.

The motel’s neon signs are flickering out, expensive to replace. I will never accommodate anyone’s ego ever again. The next road is sealed off indefinitely detour coming up thank you for your cooperation.