Hit The Road, Jack...and Don'tchya Come Back

The lights in my room are all turned off and I'm laying on my bed , staring at the clock that says it's 12:00. It's telling me the wrong time - has been for the better part of a month. My journal is open next to me on the bed and I'm running my fingers over the letters as if it's written in brail - I can still feel the pain of the story that's unfolding : Next to me : In the dark.

My girlfriend's hand gently touches my shoulder but it's enough to startle me and I close my journal as if she can read what it says.

"You alright?" She asks. Her voice revealing that she'd been asleep for a while - probably even when I was telling her things I have never told anyone.

"Yeah, I'm fine," I mumble, putting my journal back in the drawer I took it out from and lying on my back. "You should go back to sleep. You have a busy day tomorrow." She probably figures I'm referring to the job interview she has, but I'm referring to how she'll be realizing I'm gone...after tonight, I'll be gone.

Don't think I'm leaving because of her. This is not one of those kind of stories where she's done something wrong - she hasn't. It's all me. I take full blame for leaving such a great girl. My mind's just in a different place right now - I watched my coat hanger being blown by the heat coming out of the vent below it and I could feel its struggle : the way it could barely hang on and tried so hard to make it look like it had control , but it didn't. And I knew it. I'm living it. That lack of control is a part of me.

I kiss Samantha, my girlfriend, on the forehead and tell her I love her. I do. She says it back and kisses me on the lips - I don't even care her breath tastes bad. I love everything about her : from the way she sleeps, to the way she walks our dog every morning, to the way she sneaks in the shower with me, to how she's carrying my baby.

I just made myself the bad guy, didn't I? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you angry. I have to leave. It'd be worse if I stayed. You may be judging me now, but you'd be twice as hard if you could see what would happen if I didn't go...and find myself...and let her find herself...she's beautiful, I'm ugly, our kid is precious.

The clock says it's 12: 08...I wonder what time it really is. I wonder how much longer I have to live. How much more I'm going to do. I wonder how much longer I'll have to sit here and bear the fact that I know my plan and she doesn't.

We made love tonight. She kissed me and I told her I wasn't in the mood. She said, "If you're in love, you're always in the mood." I loved her for saying things like that. She was on top of me and looking straight into my eyes...I wanted to look away but I couldn't. I cried : She asked me what was wrong: I said that nothing was, I just loved her so much. She kissed my tears and my heart broke.

My bags are packed and already in my car. I left a few things just so she wouldn't get suspicious. Who needs socks anyway?

I'm going to hold her close for a few hours and then leave...when she's feeling comfortable:Safe:In love.

She'll blame Bob Dylan or Jim Carrol. She'll say I left because of them. She'll say I was so into them I thought I was one of them. She'll say the tatoo on my back that said, " The Time They Are A-Changin', I Should Too" is because I was so obsessed and I let it get too far.

Maybe she's right...maybe I envy that they packed up and left. But it's because I know I need to. I need this for myself. I need to go and be whatever it is God wants me to be. A traveler? A hippy? A better person? I hope so.

I kiss her on the neck as gently as I could. I said, "I love you" and she moved a little but I think she was still asleep. She wouldn't remember this in the morning. She wouldn't remember this in a month.

Goodbye.