I’m sharing this space with you, the close quarters of a car on the highway. I’m leaned back in the passenger seat, feeling the sun warm my body through the windshield, the wind whipping against my face through the open window.
Time always seems to pass slowly on long drives.
I can feel our thoughts rolling on and on like the hills and fields that pass us by.
I drink it all in—the country music that blares from the speakers, the pavement stretched out for miles, the sun peeking over the clouds, your hands on the wheel.
There’s so much you can discover about a person from a long drive.
Their patience, their passion, their music choice, their ability to fight sleep, what they think about when silence and an open road are the only things in front of them.
The two of us, we talk about love and our friendship. The things we want, the future people we’d like to fall for, the places we’ll one day live.
This car is like a time capsule, a safe haven from the rest of the world spinning around us.
For the hours that we drive, we are caught in a protected net of time—no decisions need to be made just yet, no choices are sneaking up on us. There’s nothing we need to do or be other than here, now, and looking ahead.
We stare into a world that lies before us. We trace patterns of hills with our eyes, chase headlights, watch birds float lazily through the clouds.
And as a country artist sings the anthem of our road trip, we discover each other, where we’re headed outside of two seats and a center console.
I don’t know the old you, the past you, the you that you used to be. But none of that matters now.
Not where we’ve been, the mistakes we’ve made, even the lips we’ve kissed. This is a journey we will take together, two souls intertwined by chance and circumstance.
We will drive into the known, and into the unknown.
Two souls on a highway, four wheels on asphalt.
And a world of ground to cover.