I didn't know what else to do but listen to the records my stepfather gave to me. The distinct sentiment that hung in the air when I played one after another made me think about the classic image he would always reiterate his stories with. I was never sure why he was also confident, I never bothered to find out either. A placid expression falls on his face when he realizes where he's at now, where he's driving, and how many years have gone by. Why does it matter now? Idle thoughts will always fall short of significant. I stared at the record spin aimlessly on the turntable, part one of the song was over. My thoughts of her folded throughout the corners of my mind until the words settled. I love her like none other, but her words drive needles through my skin. I want her to feel better, to heal, to finally be happy. How do I make it happen when nothing I do makes a difference? She says it's all on her, but I feel so useless it's dragging a stake through my heart.
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