We took off our 3-D glasses, she buttoned up her pants, and we walked towards the exit. I grabbed a hold of her hand and pulled her as I ran out the door. She laughed with amusement-a sound I love-and followed close behind me. I threw my jacket over her and we made our way to her car. We got in and headed for food. We circled the taco bell like sharks, then finally ordered our meal; a number 7. As we pulled away, sipping on our mountain dew, we glanced at each other and smiled.
An unspoken agreement.
We rode down the highway.
I slipped the glasses back on and looked at her.
The lights and road works created a virtual image on the inside of them. A highway, filled with tired souls and constantly streaming lights, projected onto her mind.
Her eyes glistened; she concentrated on the road.
The lights changed to the tune of our soundtrack.
I missed her so much, even while she sat six inches away.
I missed the feel of her skin.
Her breath across my cheek.
Her gaze on me.
I don’t like it.
I hate it. I hate that every moment of my life seems so monotonous without her hand in mine.
Why can’t I be happy with my own experiences? Why must they be our experiences?
Fuck.
We stepped out of the car and scuffled to the apartment door. It was cold and the wind bit at my fingers. We crashed on the couch and I zipped her up in a sleeping bag. She looked at me with those big blue eyes-I-I didn’t want her to ever leave.
I never wanted to leave.
Too late.
I’ll see you in may, beautiful.
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