Fugitives.

Me and Sara were fugitives from the law
Trying to get across US/Canada border
With guns on board
I was driving the car
Nervousness taking over
Sara was losing her mind
I could feel her worries entering my body
Passports being checked, we finally crossed over
I turned to the back seat
The weapons were right on sight
Right there, resting and waiting to be seen.
Rusty and old
Guns from the 1940's, maybe
Weren't they the ones my cousin had been trying to hide at my grandma's house?
How did they end up in my car?
Better yet, how could they not have seen them?
Sara smiled at me and I smiled back
Knowing that we were fugitives
Who got away right in front of their eyes.

The Window.

You were so broken up. I could see the tears coming down your cheeks, even with a window in between blurring my view.
I was sitting in the back of one car, you were sitting in the back of another. In fact, I'm not sure you were sitting. You were more like lying down facing me, your back against the door, legs completely straight, left one on top of the right one.
Both cars raced, left lane, right lane, and I got to see your sad face and your sad body. I put my hand on the window just like in the movies, when a visitor in a prison puts the hand on the glass window to try to feel the convict's hand. So close and yet so far away.
I was trying to touch your face so that I could clean up your tears, but I couldn't. It hurt that you hurt so much. I knew what you were going through because you told me about it, remember?
We were chatting online and you told me how sad you were, how you wished and hoped it would have worked out but it didn't. The helplessness I felt then, that's how I felt in that car.

I'm glad it was just a dream.
I really am here to help.

p.s. Things will get better.

xoxo
Cuca