Even now, I think about our road trip. I think about why I was so desperate to leave and the maddening urge that drove me away from everything I had once known. But when it comes down to it all, it was because you and I made a promise to each other, that we would stop dreaming about beautiful strangers and distant lands, and start living. Pain, after all, was meant to be felt.  

So we escaped: to the cold glittering mountains and to the oceans, where the wind numbed us down to our very bones. Sleepless nights, followed by iced vanilla lattes, awkward near kisses, chocolate croissants from roadside cafes, singing to the moon in abandoned lots, and dancing, dancing under the darkened streetlights until the sun set and rose once more. I miss it. I miss it all so much. It was a mistake, you know, to fall in love with the freedom of the open road, to fall asleep to the sound of your breathing, and to wake up to your laughter. It was a mistake, but did you ever feel so damn alive when you looked up at the night sky and saw the Milky Way for the first time in your life? 

 It’s hard to forget, isn’t it?