The poets are just kids who didn't make it.

My favorite thing to do on a cool summer's night like this is drive. I turn off the a/c and roll my windows down, so I can smell the relaxing mixture of smoke, from the dry heat coming to an end, and rain, the beginning of Monsoon Season. It's always better near midnight when there's no one around. I slow down, and for a moment when i hit every stop light perfectly at green, I feel free. I'm free from the world's everyday problems. I'm free of stress and of guilt; I can breathe.
When I'm calm and contained again, I like to go to your house. Normally you'd be here doing all of this with me, but you're not. I strike up a conversations with your sister. We let the tailgate of your truck down and sit. I tell her about ever memory we built in that truck. As it starts to rain, I tell her about my plans to marry you because I know it's in the near future. We talk about our dreams about the perfect wedding and the perfect life we both want. We talk about how we cope with your absence and about how differently it affects the both of us. I express my worry about time changing us. We talk about how well you're doing and how happy you seem. Sometimes we run out of things to say and we're silent. I start to think. I think too much. I think about you and rainy days; the rain fell down your face perfectly. You do everything so perfectly, and I miss you. I think about summer nights and about how they will forever remind me of you. I think of how I can't wait to spend every summer with you, how I can't wait to spend every day of forever with you.
Then I think about time. There I go thinking again; I don't think I'm good at thinking. Time changes everything. It warps and twists life into something that doesn't even begin to resemble what it once used to be. Will that include you or me? "Don't cross your bridges before you get to them," my grandma tells me. Why do I feel like I'm sprinting, full force, at every life-bridge, and why do I feel like they're crumbling to the ground?