I have my feet up on the dashboard as you drive down rout 66. The Beatles are singing on the radio and the sun is slowly setting in the clear, vast sky. You look amazing in your aviator sunglasses and plain white tee with that cozy flannel top over top. The one I remember waking up in last Friday in our New York apartment. You have your arm out the window and the wind is running through your short cut mocha hair.

You smile as I sing along with John Lennon and chuckle when I sing off key. Sitting in my lap is a notebook. My sketchbook actually. You hate it when I draw you. But I couldn’t help it when I saw how inspiring you looked as we left the city limits.

Now I have my feet up on the dashboard of your corvette, and I’m sketching your arm gently rested on the steering wheel. I smile thinking to myself that you have no idea I’m doing this. I look my window every so often pretending I’m drawling the mountains. You won’t have any idea. You won’t because I don’t look at you as much as I want to.

You told me this morning that we should take a road trip. When I asked where you said anywhere. For a second I looked at you as I laid in our bed. But then I just nodded my head and smiled. Because I’ll follow you anywhere.

Now as you are driving down the road you pull off into a McDonalds. I know how much you love this place. And how you never eat it. And you know how much I hate it when you eat it. And that’s why you never do. But as I look up from my sketchbook at your puppy dog eyes I sigh and nod my head. Because I love you.