I don't know where you've gone.
The rain pats against the glass of the windshield then rolls right off. It strikes faster and faster as the traffic moves slower and slower. I have the heat on, but I am still cold. It is that chill that sits in your spine when you isolate yourself in your blanket in a cold winter night, yearning for your one and only lover to come and fill in the other side of the sheets. I have one of your favorite bands on the radio, the one that writes the sad, sad songs.
I wish I could know.
I sing along, loud and proud, along with the chorus in the private sanctuary of my mode of transportation. In an instant, I am brought to a state of eternal depression. My vocal chords tighten so that they become unable to vibrate. I feel the levees holding my reservoir of tears of tears ready to break. This is me calling out to you, my love.
But the minutes draw near.
You are not riding shotgun next to me. I know you are not there, face lit with the light of the early morning sunrise back dropped by the amazingly monumental mountaintops or lavender clouds thumb tacked to a passion fruit pink infinity. But all that is there for me to see is the window, overlooking the river, perpetually in motion until the water dries up. No matter how much it seems that gravity has lessened its pull of the sand in the hour glass that tells the end of our geographical separation from one another, the grains still fall.
When you will be here.
Truly Yours,
Those Jolly Lions
Those Jolly Lions
