she’s my get away.
if somehow i found myself robbing a bank and somehow i’d managed to leave the bank with the cash, she would be both the get away car and the driver waiting to take me as far away from the crime scene as possible.
if one night i thought it wise to dilute my blues with pink Rosé, she’d be the moment i pass out and turn my blues into black, and then into dreams of unicorns and fairies.
when i go breaking my own heart she’s the one who picks up the pieces and puts them in a box, and gives me her own heart while she puts mine back together again.
she’s my favourite scent when i find myself somehow sitting in the stench of a sewer. she lifts my spirits and reminds me that the exit isn’t too far away.
she’s my favourite song – the one that I sometimes dance to, and the one that sometimes becomes the soundtrack to my tears. she’s still the song i get lost in. the one that gets me away.
she’s like the wind – she blows away dead leaves in autumn, and she cools my skin and tickles through my hair in summer, and in spring she brings with her the beautiful scent of newness and hope.
she gets me away.