And we can be the pavement...

We used to sit in dirty diners smoking cigarettes as if our stain-master twenty something skin would never be marred by the tar and nicotine. We always had one too many drinks—one of us hoping the night could just end, the other wishing it never would.  We kissed one too many times to be friends.  We didn’t make enough promises to be anything more.

So we grew up. We moved on. We made choices and changes and babies and bargains.

But we drive.

And drink beer for breakfast.  And get lost in the rain. And laugh and curse and rationalize and regret. And quietly want.  And catch stolen glances.

So come pick me up.  Drive me around in a Buick.  Show me things I’ve already seen. Listen to things you’ve already heard.  Kiss me quick-like letting it linger would break you. And I’ll make my way back home.  Not quite intact but untouched.

Wondering when.