Sunday, March 8, 2009

another one



It is summer again because it always is, and this time we are driving and it's the end of August so the day's already dimming at dinnertime, and the windows are rolled down and that perfect sort of late-summer breeze is coming through and I want to feel part of it even more so I let my arm hang outside the van and watch my fingers trail behind, grasping at blurred city streets, and we aren't saying anything and it's perfect, and then you turn to me and say "I really like this song. I'm glad you do, too" and then everything is even more perfect even though it's the end of summer and even though the sun has already started to set and even though all this means a goodbye looms much too soon.

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