Sara Haile Scoggins

Please Just Drive

Please just drive.

Take me somewhere I can be alone, but not feel alone. 

Take me where all the unsettled matters – don’t matter.

Where no one is watching, so I can admit to all my faults.

I need to fess up. I have no idea what I am doing, or what I want.

Please just drive.

To where the mountains meet the clouds, and I can see beyond them.

Where there aren’t expectations or boundaries.

Where I don’t have to be perfect, just exactly who I am. Imperfect. 

Where all my basic needs are met. Where it’s easy. 

We can just drive. We don’t have to talk.

I just need to leave this behind me.

I need a new horizon and to see a different shade of the sky.

I want to follow the yellow lines till they vanish.

I need you to please, just drive.

But, there are times I think that place is already here with you.

Photo by: Brian Fulda

Words by: Sara Scoggins 

Music says everything I can’t. 

Sara’s bedroom // Los Angeles, CA 

Deep Down

Message: Sara Scoggins

Photo: Erica Lauren

the morning you left I moved to your side of my bed 

trying to figure out why you had stayed

I wanted to see what it felt like

if it was, comfortable

I sank into the side I’d neglected for months and took a deep breath 

it was still soft and the coils still had a nice spring

it was easy to see why it was so hard for you to leave.

I remember I had slept so soundly and when I woke up that morning it felt normal

like a routine, I had missed out on

like something I should have been doing for a while. 

the morning you left I was sad but tried to hide it

it was unannounced and left me with a small hole that grew 

(why hadn’t we been doing this all along?)

the morning you left I stayed on your side of my bed for hours

it felt so safe

it felt like what I’ve needed, and it brought me back to life

I love to sleep on your side of my bed. 

It may seem like I don’t have much to say; I only smile. 

However, there’s a lot I should say.

Like the way you’re walking on a tightrope that at times I can feel in the cords of my throat.

Each step you take makes my throat sharpen, and my palms sweat. 

You terrify me.

The way you swivel past the hard parts and want to sprint to the end.

I know that’s not how it works,

that on the journey you can’t take it all with you.

You’ll have to drop it… somewhere… eventually.

There’s not enough room for safety. 

It panics me even more, you’ve brought me along for the ride

… and even more that you don’t seem to mind.

I want to scream and point out all the sharp rocks that will bruise you, all the rapids that will toss you from the raft

but I just smile.

I hate to watch you trip and how I end up with the swelling in my knees.

It may seem like I don’t have much to say, but I don’t think you’re ready to hear it. 

Photo by @bakingbambiphotos

where I can be peaceful and patient 

when I can close my eyes and feel the fresh air on my neck, and my sore muscles collapse.

where the thing furthest from me is the brightest, 

it reminds me how much is left ahead.

peaceful and patient.

breathe,

…. in and out.

I try to come here as often as I can

some days are more comfortable than others.

the brightly burning light against the dark, 

it will always be visible against the dull

the desperate,

the diluted. 

allow peace and patients,

there’s so much to look forward to. 

Photo: @brianfulda

I’m not sure how you got here. Next to me.

I’m not someone you should want to be this close to.

Close enough to touch my hair and to know I’m intensely afraid of what happens next. What happens next?

What if I’m … underwhelming. What if I’m just as average and ordinary as everyone you’ve forgotten? All the ones you let slip. 

Lost. Neglected.

What if the spark you think you see in me is merely an illusion? A mirage I can’t manifest. 

What if once the glow wears off, it’s something forgettable.

You shouldn’t be this close.

This close, you’re in perfect view of all the things I’ve struggled to accept. That I’ve just found beauty in.

It will take you longer to embrace those parts of me.

The incomplete parts that wrap up my spine and drive down my back. I can’t reach them, but I can feel them. And, at this range, you can see them. 

Take a step back and make sure you can see all of it. It’s safer to keep a few steps– away. A full vivid perspective. See all the hues. 

Maybe you’ll still find yourself next to me.

But, what happens next?

Photo @mamamaysa

I used to think about it all the time

Trying to figure out where I fit in or what I was allowed to feel

Now, it’s just a blur. A blur of bruises and scrapes

A feeling I can’t put my finger on,  but know I don’t want

It’s painful.  

I don’t want to indulge in a feeling anymore

I’d rather feel nothing

I’d rather I’d never seen the specks of green or felt flush in my face

I use to think about it all the time

And now I’d give anything to forget it

It’s hard to tell what you want to hear

what I should keep it in my busy brain, or allow it to spill onto the floor

will you help me clean it up?

It can get messy and overwhelming to see it all.

It’s hard to know how far it bends 

the limit of the movements

will they snap?

if they snap, do they mend easily?

what are the boundaries?

… it’s hard to tell.

I’m still learning the cadence of your stride, and why you look up at the ceiling when you have something to tell me

but I know I love your hands and meeting your eyes make it impossible for me to tell you what you need to hear

I’ll wait to tell you. 

I haven’t been here for a while 

I’ve been avoiding it because I know what happens next

you get bored and I get scared

I’ll say too much and you’ll feel too little.

I haven’t been here for a while because the shapes all look the same

I can put them together easily before you can even sort them out

I know all the curves and edges

it’s familiar

I wish I could build it with you, but I’m afraid I’ve avoided it for so long that nothing feels right

I feel relief from the days you don’t call

I haven’t been here for a while because I’m not sure I can take the uncertainty of what you mean when you say you’re thinking of me

you haven’t been there in a while

You haven’t been at the beginning in a while, and I’ll I can remember is the how it ends 

the abrupt finish line 

I’ll take this race slow

I may not have been here for a while, but you’re afraid to take a look.