04.17.22

 

The road reveals itself before us,

mile after mile

of unending blacktop,

as if this old truck

that rolled off the assembly line

in 1998

never stopped moving

at all.

We’re just passengers.

Me, in the driver’s seat,

and you,

with your sunglasses on

and hair blowing around

haphazardly,

we’re just along for the ride.

The mountains roll by,

in their high majesty.

The road rises and falls,

snakes through the passes,

like the fingertips of a lover,

tracing out the curves

of the Earth.

I remember secrets,

but I only remember

that they were secrets.

Their details escape me,

as every mile takes us

further from them.

You smile at me,

then crank up the radio,

as a country/rock song comes on.

We sing along

and the sun seems to get even brighter,

hitting our backs

through the rear window,

like wind in our sails.

Eventually,

the mountains break open

to reveal the wide expanse

of the arid desert hills,

where rivers wind lazily

on their way to the coast.

The riparian valleys

are lush with orchards

and vineyards.

We say that we should stop

and pick up a few bottles,

but we both know

that this road

doesn’t have any turnouts.

No,

maybe it does for other people,

but for us,

it just keeps rolling on.

You ask,

“Where are we going?”

and I smile my trademark half-smirk

and ask you back,

“Where do you want to go?”

“Further.” you reply,

and I put my foot into it a little more.

We’re either gonna hit

the ocean,

or the border,

eventually.

I don’t think either one of us mind.

When the truck runs out of gas,

will we stop then?

Will it ever?

It seems to have been running

on sunshine

this whole time.

Wherever we end up,

you and I both know

that the only thing that matters

is that we made it,

together.

The big, bad past

never even glanced our way

when we left.

It didn’t care.

It never did.

Now,

it’s our chance to live our lives

and I would give everything

to watch you smile

for days and days,

without a worry in the world.

Pretty soon,

we start to slow down.

Small towns,

and farms,

and ranches out here.

Pristine.

Somewhere between

the mountains,

and the ocean,

and the desert,

the old truck rolls to a stop.

We get out and stretch our legs,

breathing in the air

of a new place,

and a new life.

When we left,

I asked you one question,

“Where do you want to go?”

and you replied,

with a smile

touching the eyes that stole my heart,

“Further.”

So,

here we are.

 

 

HG – 2022

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