evenings blur to nights; radio’s on,
coffee-cups tucked snugly in the
cupholders, roads mostly empty,
speedometer reads a 100 at minimum.
conversation flows and laughter fills
the air. we’re supposed to be fast asleep
in our own beds, but here we are, rebelling
in our own way. we’re anchored to nothing
but our whims. our hands find a path to
one another, muscle-memory at this point.
we whet our appetite for literature on the
books we’ve read recently, drawing
similarities and discussing metaphors in
the work of our colleagues (as you’ve joked
before). this moment feels transient, familiar
like we’ve been here before and will never
experience this again. old souls in young
bodies.
we have the luxury of being stupid,
reckless, and young, with full
intention of seizing it.
