I 75 and you and I.

— —

We fell into the couch and the car and anywhere our legs touched and our arms found the plight

Of holding strong in the moment in each other in any night. All night.

We lost time.

So we packed it up and purged and took flight.

Killed the doubts. Buried the burdens.

And took that drive.

Me in my Jeep. You in your pick up truck. Walkie-Talkies charged and ready…

South on I 75.

We laughed and played and stretched our way into something more we would ever say…

And it was right.

And we stayed when everything felt good and when nothing felt right.

Years go by…

And we try.

We tried.

Memories of you and I … and a road trip that changed our lives. Memories of everything our futures held together unraveled and messy and awful and beautiful and maybe becomes a vision of wanting so much to not witness it die.

And it died.

It withered away quicker and slower than you or I could unwrap our legs and thighs. Decayed into blame and shame and not worthy or just tired of the try.

Frequencies like static of disconnect through a mountain range that never ends.

We love each other.