You drive with two hands on the wheel. I steal glances at you while the radio plays, as if blinking would steal this all away.
I learned a few songs like anyone would, and there are new songs still. All I want to do is keep up, never again being a person who mutes a lyric with a mutter.
These car seats are fuzzy. I trace my fingers on it, writing words I will admit one day. As quickly as I relieve the pressure, the seat erases the evidence. Our little secret.
I want to be here. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. Off the beat, driving through towns with old world names and mysteries that will never be solved.
The sun sets now and the headlights shine. There’s a silence and I’m okay with it. Always, always the radio.
There’s a black windbreaker in this nowhere. It is inside out, crumpled, and streaked with tire tracks. This is country where no one stops, but we do.
You take my hand and it surprises me. I come forward with a jerk and take it all in. It’s all so vast and there isn’t a person …
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