your getaway car
– you were only there because I was convenient
Have you ever felt that temporary happiness?
The kind that sweeps you off your feet, only to disappear just as quickly as it arrived? That's what it was like with you.
You were just a fleeting moment – the fleeting rush of being needed, only to realize that you were just another stop along the way, another soul borrowed but never one to keep.
I thought I mattered to you; I thought we mattered. But I was wrong, wasn't I? I was only your escape. Your getaway car.
You chose to be with me, not because you want to stay; you chose to be with me because I was the most convenient choice. You wanted to run away from everything – your past, your fears, your responsibilities – and it just so happened that I was the easiest way out.
And me? I held on, didn't I? I was foolish for holding on to the idea of us, to the fleeting moments of happiness. I convinced myself that the warmth I felt every time our eyes locked was something real, something lasting, not just a temporary high.
But how can you build anything real when you're already halfway out of the door, searching for your next ride?
I was the pause to your chaos, the calm in your storm. But I was never the destination, just the road you traversed to escape from yourself. So, in my own blindness from the truth, I let myself believe that it was love.
You only used me to run away, and I let you. I drove us further into the illusion, convincing myself that if I went farther, you’d stop wanting to drive back and leave. That you’d finally look at me and see something worth staying for. But people like you don’t stay. They simply can’t because you live for the rush – the rush of leaving before anything becomes real. The thrill of breaking free, escaping the ties that can hold you down.
You have always chased for freedom, haven’t you? A freedom I could never give because you weren’t running from the world – you were running from yourself. I now see how you mistook my presence for peace and how I misunderstood your distraction as something genuine, something deeper.
When you finally jumped out of the getaway car, you didn't look back. You never saw the wreckage of me you left behind or the empty seat beside mine. You were already onto your next escape.
Me? I was left on the side of the road, questioning why I let myself become nothing more than a pit stop on your journey to nowhere.
Now, I sit in the silence you left, staring at the road ahead of me. I know I can’t follow you, I don’t want to because now I know that I, and anyone in this world, does not deserve to just be anyone’s convenience. We deserve to be someone’s destination, not an escape route.
So I’ll keep driving, not for you, but for me. I’ll find my own route, my own peace. Then maybe someday, I’ll look back at this and be grateful. Not for you, but for the lesson learned: never let yourself be someone’s getaway car.
