It’s always when the glow of orange lights streak past me and the  white dashed line chases under my tires like a fox after a rabbit that my brain turns that extra quarter it needs to reveal the truth of you and I. Amidst the evening breeze in my hair and the radio humming something common, I realized what it is that scares me so much about us sometimes. It was that itch that I just couldn’t scratch for the longest time.

Our love is immaculate. We have no heavy stresses in our love. It is spotless and clean and naive and young like a blank white wall in a brand new home or the first typed wet jet black ink of the letter of the first paragraph of the first chapter in a novel. I walk away from every kiss as weightless as I did the first one. I cherish every bit of our time together. Amongst everything else, that’s what sets you apart from the rest.

This is fact not fiction,
for the first time in years.

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