subject line: you see your gypsy.

 

boston, massachusetts

One of the last conversations I had with him was about how hurt he was that I didn’t call him for help after the crash. How he would have been at the hospital, had he known. How he wished he could have been there. I bit my tongue to stop myself from telling him that I didn’t want him there. I didn’t want to call him for help. The only reason I was driving in the first place was to get away from him. Cigarettes and Stevie Nicks and windows down and a little too much speed was exactly what I needed on that crisp Sunday evening. I didn’t need him. For once, for once, I didn’t need him. So why would I continue to reach for help from the one person that I needed to be rescued from?