The records have taken their final spin. The lights are flickering off. My ears lose their fullness. She's gone, but you're still here.

I sit alone in the dark with you. There's nothing to do but talk.

So we talk.

I tell you about my obsessions and my past. And you tell me about your fears and your broken hearts. God, I say as I place my hand on your shoulder. You're so fragile, and you won't even admit it.

I would fall asleep here if I could.

Maybe I'd wake up the next day with a clearer sense of who you are. Where did you come from? Why are you still here this very minute? Why haven't you run off yet, into some deep void in the middle of nowhere? I want to know everything, but I'm afraid if I did, I would...

You keep talking. You won't meet my eyes. You stare out the window at the pouring rain, and I can't help but think of you with a cigarette in your hand and me with tears in my eyes. I couldn't cry if I wanted to, but something inside me begs for a laugh. And I do. You laugh, too, maybe for the same reason. I want to hold on to your jacket, the seatbelt, anything to ground me in this dark reality. I don't want the memories of six months ago to ruin who you are. But do I even know you?

You ask me something. I idly reply. I'm not paying attention anymore. You tell me about some girl years ago, and we laugh. I want to ask you something, but you've moved on.

And so I lean my chair back and think.

I draw lines on the cloth above both our heads. I try to map it all out. I want to know everything, and what you need is resting on the tip of my tongue. You'll never say it, but sometimes I wonder what you'd be like if you could take your jacket off and just be quiet for a while. What would you see? Could you tell me something else? Could you tell me who you are?

I bite my tongue as you launch into another story. I didn't need to know any of this three weeks ago, and I don't need it now. Where will we be if you tell me everything? Will the silence keep growing until it becomes the only thing we can talk about?

Will you please stop laughing?

Maybe this is all we were meant to be. Two kids at a loss for words with warm jackets, side-by-side in a hot car. You don't know where I'm going, and I don't know where you've been. So we just keep talking. We tell each other everything. You tell me to trust you, but it's not you I'm worried about. We'll keep revealing things and revealing things until there's nothing left to reveal. And then what? Then what will we be to each other? Nothing more than dull sacks of information, full of each other's intimate details and nothing else.

But just for a moment, a brief, invigorating moment, I felt beautiful. I felt like you. As I swayed back and forth to the music, I found that I could be something other than myself. I could live like you: never thinking about tomorrow or what it'd bring. Just living for the moment and for the talk.

But what kind of life is that?

As I saw your smile, it was revealed to me that I was nothing more than human. And I found it so comforting that I kept trying to get you to reveal those teeth to me. I took a picture, but I can't find it anymore. When you stopped smiling, I saw those bright lights in the rearview mirror. It was too cold to go out, but you kept me calm. I kept hoping you'd let me rest for just a minute, but you said you couldn't settle down. Well, that's good, I thought, because God knows I can't either.

And now my only fear is going back.