It's funny how you don't know.

All physical things must be in our head, I gather.

Because I swear when I look at you it's tangible.

Something you can hold between us,

A tight rope strung between our pupils I teeter across

Trying to dive my way into your soul.

But you seem to have no idea.

 

As if I were gaping at an oncoming car

And you saw nothing, took your left turn like there was no consequence

And somehow by not seeing it, you managed not to get hit.

But I did.

 

While you turned left and continued down that road

Towards whatever goal you're working towards

I, in the seat next to you, was pummeled.

Pummeled by steel and motor and sheer force

Going 70 miles an hour and crashing into me unforgivably.

My arms and legs and ribs were broken into a mess of bone doctors would later dread at jigsawing together.

My heart was shattered irreversibly.

 

My blood, red like a beacon, begging you to see what a tragedy had just occurred, filled the passenger seat.

And I went home aching, permanently bruised, held together by stiches and a fading, masochistic hope

That I'd have another chance to ride passenger seat.

 

And if you can't see that car, and you can't see the damage

And you can't see that tight rope between our souls

Then all that I see clear as day must be an illusion

And love is not as real as reality,

But reality is as non-existent as love.

And maybe, with any luck,

You and I don't exist either.