Something I've never told anyone.
I have a fantasy of sorts. I've never really even admitted it to myself.
It is unbelievably cliche, but that doesn't make me want to do it any less.
I want to drive cross-country, to California, in a car. It will be an old convertible, top down. It will be sunset 24 hours per day. The weather will be warm--maybe 80 degrees--with just the slightest warm breeze. I'll be wearing sunglasses, sitting in the passenger seat. I'm not sure who is driving, but you're making me smile and laugh while I rest my right arm on the door, weaving my hand in and out of the wind.
Howie Day is playing on the stereo--is there really anything more perfect for that kind of feeling, that kind of moment, than songs like Collide? (for the record, I've liked Howie Day for quite a while, and while I'm excited that he's becoming popular, I'm sad it had to be with Collide. Somehow cheapens it for me).
There's no real purpose to our journey. It wasn't planned. One afternoon, we were sitting around, trying to find something to do. And you said "Let's drive to California". Maybe you were joking at first, but I said "OK" and took you seriously, just for a second. And then you took yourself seriously. And we grinned at each other, packed a few bags, and threw them in the trunk. We bought a map of the country at 7-11 and planned our route over cheese fries at a diner, highlighting the roads we would travel.
We only stopped in cities where we knew no one along the way. This trip wasn't meant to be shared with anyone else, even if it was just seeing old friends and having a place to rest for the night.
The funny thing is that the fantasy doesn't include actually reaching the Pacific Ocean. Somehow, the trip there is the important part.
The dawn is breaking
a light shining through
You're barely waking
and I'm tangled up in you
posted by K @ 10:22 PM
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