Atsana

The prompt: A parking lot late at night, cloud-fogged with orange streetlights.
My addition: A gas station, right after the rain.

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my reflection is removed, is painted here in shadow
absence of orange light reflecting off the asphalt’s dew
my step is petrol-charged and traced in used-up debit cards
in hands behind the counter and the nocturnal type of noon

they call it liminal, but this is just my job
to try and forget all the faces of the people passing through
ticking dollars by the gallon as i wait for time to tick on by
letting the strange outdoor ceiling try to cover up the moon

and i fell in love with the stained-glass pavement
i fell in love with whatever still scares me in the dark
i am alive, and i
i have survived, and i
i am still breathing in the fog that’s learned to seep through windows

there is no place that’s built for wear like any place that never moves
i crumble faster than the stonework
maybe i’m built to be let loose
lyrics are scribbled on my hands in ink from worn-out pens
their words are rather hopeful now, a story that never quite ends
right outside my window is the endless stretch of concrete, freeway
streetlamps and suvs, eight minute’s drive from home
my mother once told me to pray when i felt lonely
but i’m more inclined to glass and windows than a god i’ve never known

i fell in love with the patterns making stained-glass pavement
i’ve come to terms with whatever still scares me in the dark
i’m more awake in midnight hours than i am at sunrise
so i’ll make my peace with fears in places with no end or start

there’s driving cars and then there’s parking with the trunk left open
there’s blaring music and there’s getting gas at three am
i’ve always tended towards the second, towards the calmer option
to sitting still and watching the sky refuse to cave in

keys and the radio and the parking lot outside
gas stations are always made for you to leave behind
i think i’m staying here for a little while this time
and then for now what scares me can just stay outside

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