In stolen moments before sleep, I replay memories of who we used to be.

Children laughing in the car, freedom on our fingertips and love on our lips,

We rode down highways together, our broken hearts in the backseat. Forgotten for the moment.

I watch as we raised our voices above the shitty speakers, as we screamed lyrics to songs that will always be a part of us.

And we waved at the passing cars, not pausing for breath. Not missing a beat. 

We were invincible, at least for a few stunning hours on a quiet highway with no place to sleep that night.

But memories, as they always do, turn to sadness as I recall driving home alone. No copilot in the passenger seat, with only cigarettes and a scratched CD for company.

It is this, our last great adventure, that hurts me now. I knew that things would change soon. We spoke of leaving our towns and finding our own way. And I knew that your way was much different than mine.

Because I needed out of the stifling town that threatened to swallow me whole, and you heard the wind calling to your gypsy soul. I needed a life elsewhere. You needed a life everywhere.

And so I left you behind, wishing to God I could have convinced myself to stay. But it was too much. And now I think of our adventures before I fall asleep. Smiling in the dark.

And hoping one day the wind will bring you my way again.