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I drive when I can’t sleep. I didn’t do that

before. If I could I’d cry

out with the coyotes that camp

the hills behind my parent’s house.

Wind caresses my neck

when the windows are down. Fog sits

in the canyon like a garden and

I’m buried in it and it’s beautiful.

Always 4am.

Sometimes I sit alone in the dark,

dreaming of our flowers

that didn’t bloom. There’s always

something to be weary of these days:

the fog, the coyotes,

my stupid red heart.

Sometimes all we want to be is aimless.

Sometimes all we want to be is wanted.

Sometimes all we want is both.



About this poem

As the poem suggests, I take a lot of late-night drives. And during those drives, I often listen to a playlist that I made called 4am. It’s filled to the brim with super sad, super feel-y songs that put me in a very melancholic mood. I’ve found that my mind so easily slips into an introspective, reflective place while listening. Past experiences, past relationships. It’s almost like a mental reset for me. There’s a canyon that’s pitch-black and backlit by light pollution that I sometimes drive through, and it’s that place and this feeling that inspired me to write this.

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