I sit in cemeteries sometimes,
watching leaves fall,
lighting candles on graves.
It used to be a face-my-fears,
let the goose bumps crawl kind of experience.
I’d force myself to go because
it was the closest I could get to an old friend.
It’s become much more of a peaceful thing now,
allowing me to continue healing those scars.
I close my eyes and run through the memories,
imagine that the tape deck in that dodge
is still playing nostalgic classic rock songs.
My skin still dances,
and my hair still stands,
but I’ve moved past those fears.
The cemeteries, the candles, the memories…
they all seem to mean that somewhere,
even if it’s just in my mind,
I can still ride shotgun with an old friend.