You- on a road trip.
I can't picture the car or the road; just you and the landscape in back of you, moving quickly and slowly at the same time- how it always seems to be on road trips.
You smile in this image; the kind of smile that comes with a giggle, even though you claim you rarely laugh; and a lifting of your eyes in a way that makes me get butterflies.
In this image, I am across the car, but I am still not sure who's driving. There's a freedom that makes me think I am, and an ominous beauty that makes me think you are.
It's not like one of those dreams in which I become you and you become me and the lines between me and not me; her and not her; you and not you become so blurred she/you/me can feel everything at every moment. There is a clear distance in this image, but I feel safe, so I still can't be sure of the mood. It's one of those moments that is so specific yet so vague, I can't seem to grasp it.
So, I sit at my desk; ants occupying the attention of the kitties; coffee smelling very southern Louisiana; mind speaking very South Philadelphia; heart hoping that the background isn't the sky off the side of a cliff, quickly and slowly whizzing by as you smile that heart-lifting smile, and talk in that voice that makes me so comfortable and so sure but so scared because it's so distance and so present all at once.