My head presses itself on the window as The Man Who Stepped Into Yesterday, comes on the radio,

My mind wanders, my eyes strain from the swollen, peach sky.

The guitar, so gently, lulls me to sleep with its soft transitions and humming distortion.

Dreams find me too quickly, but I can still hear the guitar gliding around my body in waves.

Floating, flying, running. I remember holding hands in the early hours of summer.

The touch of those warm, pink lips on my forehead; spreading out into a grin.

I feel his lips stretch into a mischievous smile as I’m lifted into the air.

Our laughs tie together in unison; the beautiful bonding of sounds.

His blond hair is radiant against the sun, and my raven hair meshes around his,

surrounding the light in darkness.

We’re the perfect contradictions, and the blind intentions.

And the tempo changes.

He’s gone, and I’m alone.

My arms are the only ones that wrap around me in the crisp, autumn air.

Winter’s early kiss pecks my cheek as if to mock me.

My feet drift away, his face flashes around the obscurity.

His hand reaches out to touch my cheek, I wait for the soft embrace.

I feel nothing.

I see his smile fade away with the rest of his body.

I realize that those smiles and warmth were shortly admired.

Reality is a toll that is too lightly lived,

and has no potential in the past.

He had taught me that.

Maybe he wasn’t the chase that I was running towards.

Maybe I wasn’t running at all.

Reality was chasing me, living was the chase, and I was between them.

Except each had it’s own flaw.

Neither were in my grasp,

because living was the chase that I would never be able to catch

and reality would never catch me.

And for some reason, as long as I had him,

I would come to terms with it.