"Things'll turn out the way you want"

The Swell Season was playing on the scrambled radio station while the street lights shone in through the rain to the drops collected on the windows of the car. It was a crispy realization. Tears matched the cold. The engine was on so the heat would work. I drank hot vodka steeped in red rooibos tea and milk, mumbled crying sounds to my boyfriend when he asked if he could help. Hung up the phone before the predicted I Love Yous and exhaled anxiety from my mouth.
All I said was that I couldn't do this. I wrote later about running away, I only said that I was overwhelmed. I what-ifed my whole world. There, in the smoke filled four door I was alone. I thought about being alone forever. But time moves on if I want it to or not, so the night became clear.
This will pass like the exit you miss on the interstate, and you'll take the next one.

I would wake up the next morning in my bed at noon, after a dream of breathing water into my brain to revive my lifelessness. I'd get in the shower, put on a torn sweater, make coffee for my friends and I, ask if they'd like breakfast even though it was lunch time. I wear stripes. I wont put on shoes so my feet freeze because it's the end of November. A stand up bass at the edge of my ears, a rustling cymbal shake and a tickled piano stroke my arm with one delicate finger, making my skin stand up straight.

What I have is luck, and what I want is a stable table to put a bowl of apples. But things'll turn out the way you want, or maybe the way they need to. And I'll get through this, because every action is disaster and we weather the weather better every day.