Styrofoam Cups


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The air hangs heavy
with the scent
of the sea
and exhaust
from the hulking metal
that will carry me away
from your arms.
You hand me a styrofoam cup
of lemon-lime sugar
with the promise
that the drink will last me,
that it won’t sweat
on my fingers
as I wave goodbye
from the dirty window.
Your hat is turned backwards
and you look the same
as when you picked me up
two weeks ago,
when I thought
this was only a respite
from reality
rather than the truth
I sought for the two long years
since I had felt the warmth
of your lips pressed to mine.
It was only supposed to be
for a short while,
this separation of miles,
but it has lasted
for an eternity.
The tears on my cheeks
mingle with the dust
from the road and
I can barely contain
the urge to run back,
to make a U turn and
run my fingers
through your short hair.
You called every day
until you didnt.
Until you found someone else.
You said
she didn’t want me
to write anymore,
that she was afraid
to lose you to the dream
sitting three thousand miles away,
to the girl who symbolized
home and
love and
fire and
I accepted because
I didn’t have a choice.
I found another
but my heart has
always belonged
in your hands
despite miles and
heartache and
other people
always in the way.
You broke my heart
and I broke yours
years later
when you learned
I hadn’t waited
for you to open your eyes.
Distance and fear
tainted our future
and maybe corrupted our past.
You still own my soul
and every piece
of who I am.
I still cling
to the little things:
the timbre of your laugh,
the chestnut brown of your eyes,
riding next to you
as we drive along the Florida coast,
the salt air on my skin and
the sand beneath my toes,
that styrofoam cup
and how I held it
all the way back to Oregon.

In response to the Daily Prompt–Tainted Love


18 thoughts on “Styrofoam Cups

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