Whispers

 
 

runs

He tells her to follow her urges. She tells him to just keep driving.

They drive anywhere the road will take them, stopping at the prettiest scenic overlooks and lingering. At night, they make love in the backseat of the car. It’s an urgent thing. She needs to feel him, hold him, taste him—while she still can. They fall asleep with tangled limbs, breathing each other’s breaths and dreaming each other’s dreams.

She urges him to wake when the sun’s first rays shine into the car and watch it rise.

“He’s running,” she says.

And then she kisses him.

 


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