Leaving cigarette ashes all up and down I-40 for nearly 900 miles. I just got done breathing you in enough to last me for 31 days and all I want is to go back to sleep in the curve of your body. I can't help but feel this drive would go much faster if you were in the seat to my right, but I'll keep barreling down this road, alone, headed home, but I'm not sure I can call it that it that, because no one there understands that I didn't take my heart with me when I pulled out of the hotel parking lot, and I'll never know the right words to explain why  I am so low when I return with the smell of your embrace still on my clothes, and I can still feel your flesh burning fresh in my mind. And I know that my mother is worried about my heart but I can't figure out how to make her realize that this is different, this is it, you're it, you're mine, you are my future. And I know better than anyone that you were always meant for me. Distance is not for the untrue love. The truth is, angel, I am feeling again and that is because of you. I feel every moment I am not next to you and, oh God, how I feel every second in your arms. Darling, I want you to know how much I hate the space between us. At least as I head back to Carolina, I know I'll be searching for a place we can hide away together. I can feel the miles growing and hurting but I also know that we can be strong through them and through the time we're missing. You are my whole heart, you are my girl, my world, forever.