All the things I used to left out to be found; I still wonder now just how many times my intentions were noticed. Shaking just a little, I tried my hardest to draw out some lines - in the shape of a map, so you'd know where to turn on your way home. It's always easier to get lost when you're where you've never been before. Or where you'd never driven from at night, with the orange-frost glare from cheaper streetlights on the blacktop that hadn't been repaved in years. Pale-gray is the color you'll be driving on.
     Pale gray were the boots I left out for you. I knew you wouldn't think about them, at first. Until the color of the faux-swede ripples in the florescent lights the same way they had before, with my ankles gently crossed and leaning back unto the floor beneath, more than a hundred years old. Had the wood spoken, I know how many unfinished stories it would have told.
     So many things I lost so you could find me. And nothing ever came to show of it, aside the moments you'd remind me with the same nervousness and coy questions which stapled us before. It was never really a chore.