A figure.

There is a four door, dark brown sedan I often refer to as Home. I call shotgun because you are the driver. Our destination is simply there away from here. What’s your favorite snack? I’ll pack it and most likely feed it to you as you make left turns. Those are tricky—and so is tracing the whereabouts of Runts. People hate the banana ones, but you are not regular people so I can honestly declare I love you.

Ahead we can see the sun, behind us the moon. It’s been about 16 hours or perhaps just a few moments. Time is irrelevant, as our landscape seems to never change. My peripherals numb to anything but your silhouette. Around us, I assume are breathtaking fields of lilies and auburn hills—since it’s what our neighbors once described the road to there to look like, some time ago.

The air conditioner is broken so you crack the window to a height that does not blur my vision but enough to cool my forehead. It feels like the breeze is pushing us along with it’s weight as we carelessly sit back and fall into the idiom that is giving up all control to the wind. We sway towards one another for nature tells us to, her command we praise. I can feel the concrete’s pathway underneath my feet, so jagged I slip up my legs on the dashboard because I decide I want us to be captured in a moment that favors a photo. I take the picture with my mind, my eyelids shut, and I keep them closed.

The radio mimics the functionality of the air conditioner, so you start humming because you cannot sing though I loved to listen. I like the silence, but I only like when I’m alone. You hum as my eyes stay closed. I see flashes of red and gold as they retreat when we glide pass thick trees. The melody you hum is reminiscent to a tree. Tall and strong and gives shade to a tired girl.

Suddenly the moon is ahead of us, and you’re still tall and strong and I’m beyond the deepest definition of exhaustion. Your deliberate aim to get us there makes you handsome and I succumb to your charming yet fiery protection and what is to become of you when you realize my hopes can surely become your reality.

The sky stares down at a four-door, brown sedan, reminiscent of home. A home that moves swiftly between the hills and beside the trees. Mom keeps calling, but we respond with a text saying “we’re just fine and we’ll see you soon.” So swift, everything turns into blur; everything except now two silhouettes. One real and the other her imagination.

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