wildathearts

I roll the window down and then begin to breathe in the darkest country road and the strong scent of evergreen, from the passenger seat, as you are driving me home. Then looking upwards I strain my eyes and try to tell the difference between shooting stars and satellites, from the passenger seat, as you are driving me home.

Do they collide? I ask and you and smile.

With my feet on the dash, the world doesn't matter.