We were young when we met. Not teenagers, not even adults. We were just young, blood driven human beings. I was sad, you were quiet. I was neurotic, you were calm and shy. You made me laugh somehow, but I was still sad. It was short, too short for this endless life. It wasn’t the first time for us, I could feel it. So I started thinking maybe was the last time. This taught still makes me shiver in the summer nights. I was doing artsy shit, you had your bike and life was simple, yet so complicated. We weren’t happy here. I saw it in your eyes constantly. So we left, that simple. You were quite a travel addict, I was lost anyway. So we packed our shit and drove with a desire for freedom that kept us quiet all the way to nowhere. I loved you at that point, down the road, you were my one and only and I was yours. We never said those words, though, I was a writer, you were a reader, we both knew words and dust in the wind. We knew then and only then we figured that we were two wondering fragments of a star that dashed into million pieces a long time ago. But it was too soon, we drove back and reality called us a moment after.
So we went our separate ways, we learned and loved, I was a shitty artist, you kept your bike. Everything went by, we settled down, we never had families though. I searched you in every man, you just didn’t waste any time, you knew where I was. I was still lost, you still loved to travel. So you knew when it was time and came for me.
So here we are, back on the road again, only this time is forever.