Being with you was like getting in a car
with no destination. It was freedom. It
was blue skies and rural landscapes. It was
no time limits, hitting the gas pedal to head south.
Or west. Then north. Or was it west? It was
driving in circles til the tires
drew maps on the pavement. It was
truck stops and gas station coffee.
It was windows down,
wind dancing between us. It was
writing love notes on useless road maps. It was
knowing we’d have to pull over and rest eventually.
But even resting meant memorizing
each other’s physical details. We ignored
the speed limits, the work zones,
the hazard lights, the dashboard. We
sang til our throats burned
and the only way to sooth them
was to drink in each other. We talked philosophy
and joked about our future children,
Tilly and David. We didn’t know where
those winding roads and cloverleaf turns
would take us, never touching the
brake pedal. It was running
til the gas light glowed orange. It was
skidding into that dead end.
Being with you was like
getting in a car heading for