but she still believes we go somewhere.

“It’s not the end.”

There is still shit on the radio.  It’s past the point of hot outside and I am using the wind to cool us.  I won’t tell her that I am hungry too.

She asks where were going then leans back into the door, pulls her feet up and falls asleep again.  There is no one else on the road.

If you could stretch it out to make it go as far as it could,  If you could turn each day into a week by giving something, by giving everything,

I slow through the intersections with an inseparable feeling of guilt.  Of the greatest things that remain to haunt me now, it is the fear of her wanting and astonishment at the world, that it ended, this is what remains.

I watch her sleep like I always have, knowing I have loved her more and that I still do.  I wish I could hold her, pull over, get the blanket out and just lay down in the gray snow together.

Endings aren’t about places.

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