it's the worst it's ever been during night drives with the windows open. times like these make my thoughts run like blood. the air smells like blown out candles, different than a fire in your backyard. it smells sweeter, or maybe it's just the hot blue wax and smoke, blending with nostalgia.

all over, the wind feels like water, soft and gentle on my skin and in my hair, tangible even. i try to cup it in my palms, let it fill my lungs like a fog. on summer nights like this one, i swear it's like your warm skin on mine. almost like satin or maybe even your kisses. (well, that one kiss.) i wish i got to kiss you as often as i feel the air like this.

i get an ache and pull in my stomach.
the definition of "to miss" is to notice the loss or absence of/ feel regret or sadness at no longer being able to enjoy the presence of.
i never see you anymore. i really miss you. i've worn this highway thin driving back and forth just to get this feeling. it's like you're here with me. with your hand in mine, on every summer night, with the same fog in your lungs.

my tires are rid of any traction, but the asphalt faded long before i, with empty potholes where i leave pieces of myself, and places where some cracks run like trenches. the endless pavement looms on, but it can never give me a feeling that will cure missing you, no matter how hard i try to believe it, or how far i travel. this road is worn to dust, and maybe that's the fog that's filling my lungs. the boy who broke the highway.