Strangers

​I can’t stay here anymore. Not in this room, this house, or this town. 

I already have a plan, I’ll just tell my family I’m too sick to go on the trip. 

That, yes, I’ll be fine alone for the weekend. 

And once they leave I’ll grab the spare set of keys. Remember to turn off the lights and forget who I am. 

I’ll drive until I find a city I’ve never been to, where I can introduce myself as Aspen.

The girl who isn’t dying. The girl who has a future, and can make her dad proud because it doesn’t hurt to play basketball. The girl who planned her wedding, not funeral. 

And the stranger will smile at me. Actually smile out of happiness, not pity because they can see the pain in my eyes.  

And maybe I’ll make a friend who doesn’t know anything about me except for my favorite color and dream job. They’ll ask where I’m from, and what I like to do.

They won’t ask how I’m doing or what the doctors said. There wouldn’t be any, “Do you need help’s?” Or “I’m sorry’s”. 

I want to meet someone who doesn’t know my story. Who doesn’t know why I act too mature or speak in stanzas. 

And then, when it’s all over, I wouldn’t be able to lie. So I’d tell them the truth. 

And they wouldn’t say anything, but they don’t have to. I already saw my world crash in their eyes.

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