I'm not obsessed, you're just there.
I've only ever known you from the back of the room,
and I can't help but wonder
what it would be like to sit in a car with you
on a sunny, spring day
driving across the state.
Would we talk non-stop,
fascinated with the power of the mind,
or would we sit quietly with the windows down,
and Neil Young and Ryan Adams
tag-teaming the stereo?
Would we pull over at the scenic stops
and take artistic photos,
or just stick our hands out the windows
and like birds let the wind carry them home?
When I lay my head down
and close my eyes to the humming of the pavement,
would you rub my back and enter my dreams,
or keep both hands on the steering wheel
to make sure I stay safe?
Would we pull over at a beautifully trashy, 100-year old diner
that smells of road trips and comfort food,
or find a delicious vegetarian cafe,
walls adorned with anonymous souls splattered on canvas?
When evening comes like a satin wave of sapphire
would you stop the car and dance with me in the latent streets,
or would you lean into me
and whisper the ancient language of trees in my ear
as my eyes remain fixed on the melting horizon?
When we reach our destination would we stop,
or would we be so enthralled with each other
that we would just keep driving into the silent, sleeping America?
Would we even have a destination?
Perhaps we would only be following the ocean's breathe
using the cattails as our road signs
and our salty skin as a compass.
Would you fall into curiosity
and want to do it all over again?
Maybe one day you'll see me everyday.
Not obsessed, just intrigued.
Maybe you already do...
looking to the back of the room,
wondering what it would be like
to sit in a car with the me
on a sunny, spring day
driving across the state.
