It was a long ride going home. The distance didn't matter cause it was the solitary moment. I couldn't see what's outside clearly because of the windows, but I see enough to make me feel safe inside. The cars pass as the people inside them: driving, sleeping, texting, singing, or like me, staring blankly at something intangible- air. It was a long ride going home, not because of the distance, but the countless thoughts that reminded me of you. I see you everywhere, or I just tend to assign you to some things that could somehow remind me of you. Oh the color red, that was what you wore one time we met for dinner. Look at the stop sign, it's red, like the shirt you wore one time, right? Remember, dinner together? Roses are red. "Red" is how you pronounce the past tense of Read. Red's now my favorite color, when I don't even see it as one anymore. 'Cause when I see something red, I'd always immediately associate it with you. Funny how things could symbolize people. Maybe it's something I purposely do. Because even if I think about something else, I don't want you think it's not you.