I’ve set the world on fire a few times.

And everything seems to burst into flames except you. Like you have some stupid immunity to the god damn world. I hate that about you. The fact that you can ward off anything. 

I read once that everyone in your dreams is someone you’ve come in contact with some time in your life. I saw a girl stand next to you and every night she sits in the passenger seat of my car. And we both sing along to a song I’ve never heard. 

I’m driving to your house. I always am. It’s like I can never forget it. I feel like I’ve never even been there

And I make up stories for everyone I pass. Because I can see myself doing that with you too. We will. Don’t let me forget. I create their past and reconstruct their future based on the license plates and bumper stickers.  “Fight crime, shoot back” was on the back of a pick up truck. I named him Thomas, and he’s never held a gun in his life. 

I time out everywhere I go with songs.

As if that makes it any easier.

It takes me 3 to get to school, 5 to our favorite restaurant. 2 to where I last saw you. But it takes 36 to see you again. I made a playlist even. And half the songs remind me of you And as I get past 31 I start getting anxious. I think about turning around.

And the world is on fire again and I find myself running red lights because the ground is up in flames. 

Its hard to get to you because I’m barefoot and the ground is hotter than the sun you love so much. I’m sorry you had to see it this way. 

None of my dreams make sense when I wake up. They fade away with the stars. Maybe that’s why they’re dead.

Tell me when you grab a hold of the north star. We can read it together.