Moonlight Missing

January 7, 2009
By Hayley Nolan, North Barrington, IL

It’s been at least twenty minutes now. You’re driving and I am navigating, I’m sure that’s the reason we are lost. The roads are winding and slick with rain, and seem impossibly long. We’re going to be late now, we are both terrible at directions. All of the roads look the same; dark and lined with giant trees, their long branches reaching, hopelessly to the sky. My heart starts beating faster, the feeling of being lost starting to sit, heavy, on my chest. I frantically try to find some thing that looks familiar, something that I know. I glance over at you. Your eyes are dark, focused. But your face is soft with a smile. It’s a strange combination, but some how you can pull it off. You notice my eyes on you and start to laugh; a wonderful sound that fills the silent car and expects to be joined. A smile spreads across my lips, naturally my furrowed brows relax and I take a deep breath. Maybe this is the way it should be; you and I, lost, but together. We are one per son, we complete each other. We think the same thoughts, and when our eyes meet we can tell what the other is thinking. My sentences turn into yours, and yours mine. I realize I like it like this. It’s just us, and that doesn’t matter to you. I look to the road. I recognize the name of a street, and coincidently it’s name is Hope.
I look at you and smile, "I think I know where we are." You don’t need to meet my eyes. Knowingly, you grin, "I don’t really think we were ever lost."

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