Driving around your home town with all four windows down, I’ve been watching the odometer and thinking about geography, and the couple thousand miles of barren country constantly dividing you and me.
Or hiding out in the basement where we used to make out and constantly complain about the circumstances we found ourselves in when we were just two kids, both just too proud to admit, just how fortunate we were to have come across each other.
Nothing’s made sense like that made sense since. And so now it’s waiting around for letters in the post, and photos that tell tales of all your travels, and of a distant coast, and includes a scoop of sand to sift through my weathered hands, just like all the time we spent, and the time we took for granted.
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