It has crept up on me. I was just wandering, driving around. I had no grandiose plan – but here I am on her street.
I swear, this isn’t planned. If it was planned, I tell myself, even if it was subconsciously planned, I’d have a mariachi band. I would know songs to serenade, or have wacky beat poetry. Hell, I might even have a boom box.
But I am on her street, and it is late at night, and she is heavy on my mind. I pull over to the side. The park is quiet around me, but I pop all the doors and trunk, and blast the singer/songwriter alt rock over across her street.
I lie upon the pavement. I lie where her body was on this street, this street that is now and forever her street. I try to ignore the memory of the way she looked after my car hit her. I listen to the music wash over me, and hope that she can hear.
I’m aiming for a flash fiction a day until Valentine’s Day – and somewhat thematic ones, too. I hope you enjoy them.