when i’m driving into the city in the mornings i always picture him sitting in the passenger seat next to me, his knees bent with feet on my dashboard and hand out the window pretending he can fly. i’m blasting the 1975 but it’s not loud enough for him, so he’ll turn it to full volume and scream along, not caring who’s looking or who notices him.
for that hour maneuvering through rush hour he doesn’t have to think about who he is or everything he has to do, he just loses himself in the sunrise and the music with his eyes closed and a smile on his face. he says something but i can’t hear him, though instead of turning the volume down he leans closer to me and peppers kisses along my cheek among lost words but i don’t mind that i still have no idea what he’s saying.
we don’t care about the traffic or the noise or the people staring because we’re laughing and living, not giving a shit if the cars in front of us ever move because we have each other and that’s just enough.