Sometimes there's a crash. Sometimes it's loud. Sometimes it's quiet. Too quiet. That's the worst.
The crash is and was, and always will be blue and green and orange and red, it's brilliant but it's lazy. The crash rooted itself in me, a long time ago. It built me.
Sometimes I feel the crash's aftereffects. Sometimes I see it.
When there's a car burning on my front yard, when I'm running through eucalyptus forests and botanical gardens, when the sky is gray and it's misty and music plays in minor key.
Maybe it's in the fall. Maybe it's in the fear. Maybe it's everywhere.
But when it's wiped away? When the crash is taken out, removed, cleaned up, put back together, what is there?
I don't know if there's much. Sometimes I feel like the crash is all I am. Sometimes I feel like I'll reincarnate into it. That I will suddenly turn into it.
I know not what I'll become, I only know what I am now.
So now... what am I? Certainly not the crash. It's gone now. I got rid of the physical evidence a long long time ago. But I can't murder the memories.
There's no bottle of bleach big enough to wash it all away, no fire hot enough to burn it all. There's no thrift store that will take it in and re-sell it.
So I keep it with me. Sometimes it's loud. Too loud. It makes itself known, it eats up all the space around it. Crowds my vision until everything is cloudy and I feel stuck in it.
Sometimes it's quiet. It doesn't show itself, it's too afraid of proving itself right. But even when it's quiet, it's there. And that's the hardest.
Sometimes there's questions with no definite answers. And maybe that's what the crash is. A question lacking an answer. Maybe not lacking one. Maybe it's fine without one.
Maybe not having an answer gave it everything it needed. Maybe not having an answer built it. Maybe we'll just see how it goes. And maybe that's the answer.