You, Me, and a Jeep
After I got the top down, sun drenched vinyl still stinging my fingertips, I felt the next wave hit. It was early summer. We were just kids, and what should kids do but sail and explore? Each task, completed, was another step on the march toward that night, welcome relief from my current which was rockier than I’d known. I remember my tact fritting until the moment I saw you. You tilted your head, smiled hello.
In the fall, you headed north, and we’d be set on courses which meandered in and out of each others lives. Still we stayed tethered, our connection rooted in our conversations. Our pervading similarities, just casual coincidences, we'd occasionally look upon and comment how they are meant to be.
It’s been years of those memories, with the last half void. I was lost, and your epoch was marred. As I wandered, I would think of you. I missed you. As fragmented as I felt, I continued on. Such as sailors see the clouds and think of the sun, I figured you were shining. I was wishing for something which was not entirely true. There were tranquil seas. Your currents feeding them, and the crashing displacement when your waves felt rocky shores in the harbor. You house a spirit which guides through even the darkest of swells, and I have faith in that light. You still do the same tilt, and the sun still shines.
You're still lovelier than any other girl could be. It would be selfish to think no one could love you as much as me. I am forever grateful I am even afforded room.
So we are sailors, together, careening across an ocean of once anxious waves.