It

The comfort in stable bonds.
The late nights under the sky, by the Bay, with Everything.
The smoke in your face. Open your Eyes. Listen to the words. They are Yours for the Taking.
The Talks.
The nexus of complete control and no control. How long will you be here? Do you even want to leave?
More late nights, this time with the intimacy that comes with more experience. Share it.
This is the Place. This is the Time. Feel it. Respect it's deceiving splendor and consume it until the bests of this Life provide the foundation for Your Perspective.
This is It.

Dreams

I'm selfish. Isn't that the worst part?
I want everything back because I loved it. It was a flawed model of comfort in Stability, Empathy and Love, and it was Our flawed model.
It was True. I Have to think that it was.
I like to cling to the concepts of We and Us because their meaning has begun to slip from experience.
I see you throughout the week. Moments of pure exhilaration. Moments of pure sorrow. What a fucked up pairing.
These moments always end the same. I wake up.
We both lost, but that is where the similarities end.

Lesson

See your reflection in your dreams. There is much to learn.
Do you Feel guilty?
Do you Feel that you are "progressing?"
Do you Feel that you are worthy of respect?
Do you Feel that you are a Fraud?
Do you care?
How can you say you've learned your lesson when the class isn't over yet?

Through the Fog

You walk through the Fog. You're Loved, and she's a worthy companion. Keep going.
Through the halls of misguided tears and youthful enthusiasm (i.e. pure joy). Keep walking.
Through the streets of piercing light and irrepressible...growth? Naivete? The Bridge between the two? Nevermind now. Keep moving.
Through the roads North. The AM radio dancing with the smell of Pumpkin. Through the darkness. Keep driving.
Through Our World. Our keys. Our water. Our shit. Keep running. Don't look back.
Through nights spent under the moon. With the Red. And the Green. And the bearing of the soul that seemed impossible years ago, when you were moving through the streets. Slow down.
Watch your footing. Through the Fog. You always get where you're going.

Mornings

Semi-dark. Silhouette. Warm skin and comfort. Good Morning.
As fresh a start as you can ever attain.
Kissing. Coffee. Frizzy hair and boxer shorts.
Oh, and Weekend Mornings.
The pot of coffee is larger, as is the T-Shirt. We have less to do. Why can't we always do this Little?
Baby names. Old trips. Family. Keep talking--never stop.
We are Good. We are Real. Don't doubt.
Just remember the Mornings.

In the Car

You're exhilarated.
Every union has their Days, those Times when every shared experience screams perfection, and it's a scream so loud that you have no choice but to assume the floor and become its servant. She is your King.
This is one of those times. Together, in the car. This is It.
You watch her as she drives; sometimes you know the route, sometimes you don't. It makes no difference--every road, whether previously taken or never before experienced, is new/different/better when traveled together.
You can see her reflection in the window; her laughter echos throughout the car, moving in tandem with the radio--a perfect example of when life seems scripted.
You feel her touch. Her fingers? Mouth? You'll accept anything--it's Her.
And you begin to wonder what would happen if this arrangement were to falter, to exit from your realm of what's Normal.
You wonder--you remove yourself from the exhilaration that is this Present.
Try not to make a habit of this. Stay where you are.
Later you will remember the roads you traveled, the destinations reached; you'll remember the smell of her car (what a mess), the way she drove (confident), the way she talked the whole way there. Or didn't. It never made any difference--in each scenario, you were Both There.
And you'll remember the way she sang, the way she used her seat as a dance floor.
You'll remember the way she looked at you, like you would always travel these roads Together.
And then you'll smile.