I prefer to pretend that the disappearance of your presence meant you finally left for an idle adventure; an exploration for your 'true self'. Your escapade into the unknown will be made out of intangible metaphors of blue skies with the bright sun making your golden confidence shine.
The highlight of these fiction adventures are where you drive a cherry red mustang convertible with a stolen cigarette held in between your fingers and a pack of beer in the backseat. Beads of sweat glint on your tan skin as they catch the light shining for you. Your free hand taps the steering wheel in time to the top 40 cheesy pop songs of that day and your lips move slightly as you murmur the lyrics, however, you watch the road in front of you with caution.
Sometimes you have a charming girl lounging on the seat beside you. She changes every time, though. She could be your ex or a stranger across the room I'm in. Her hair may be rolling waves of wine red, or a vivid purple fluttering as the wind runs its finger's through her hair - either way, she dares you to drive faster as she pushes up her sunglasses to get a better look at you.
You'd glance out of the corner of your eyes and see her devious grin urging you. And of course you chuckle but you don't drive faster since that's the type of person you are. You'd refused to do anything that you didn't want to do, and you never liked driving fast. But no one gets angry, nobody ever minds because it's you.
As the wind ruffles your hair and the sunglasses perched on your nose begins to slip from the sweat, you smile, because you're free. Free from petty arguments and the haunting memories of what we have done. You're finally smiling with some girl giggling by your side and the sun lightly kissing your skin.
Of course, I'm just making all of this up, because I don't know if you're living in a place where the weather is hot and it pretty unlikely for you to get a convertible when you prefer to ride a safely covered car because you never trust the weather. You don't even smoke anymore and you probably don't drink either.
But maybe, in some crazy reality, you are doing that.
However, the difference between my fantasies and this reality is that you wouldn't be coming back to this dreadful town. You haven't gone on a temporary adventure.
You're gone like the wind we tried to catch with our fingers. You slipped past before we could capture you - an ideal who was never ours. Our breaths were taken away so that we stood in awe and watched a spectacle of vivid leaves being stolen away.
You left us in a dull, monochrome world of waned bare trees with our hands holding out for leaves that are already gone.
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