I've always wanted to do this.

Sit on the passenger side of the car, you behind the wheel, greens and blues whirring past as your foot hits the gas.

I look up at you and see something I've always wanted to see.

I didn't even know I was waiting for you - I was just sitting on the steps of my house, wondering why I was even there - until you came.

You took my hand and held the door for me, and then you said, "Where do you want to go?", and I said, "Nowhere in particular."

And so here we are, driving to nowhere in particular, letting the air be filled with comfortable silence, making conversation with the words we leave unsaid. Your hand reaches for mine, and I let you hold it for as long as you wish to, because there might not be another time.

After all, something as magical as this, if this surely is not a dream, then it is a fragile reality which we must thread on carefully, for the slightest shift can make it shatter.

Your face is calm. You are not smiling, but you are happy. I can tell by the twinkling of your eyes, there are words swirling in your mind, words you don't dare say because they might not make sense. Oh, but how they do.


I roll the window down, fill my lungs with the fresh, cool air. Closing my eyes, I squeeze your hand, and I know that you know what I yearn to say.

I've always wanted to do this.