dirtyparkedcars

I wrote on that car and I promised them that they were loved. And although I did not know them, their friends, their pasts, their futures, i knew this to be completely and unabashedly true. Their faces did not matter. Their clothes did not matter. The very van that I traced on did not matter. All that mattered was their ability to know and understand the absolute certainty my finger had when I gave them that part of me.