Sep
11
It’s a little debilitating to be suddenly hit with the memory of our hands fitting together so perfectly; digits intertwined, the pad of your fingertip brushing past my knuckle as you pull my hand into your lap whilst I drive us home. Especially so as I cruise down California’s Highway 1, and I’m meant to be taking in the breathtaking view of yellow rolling hills against cotton wool-flecked blue skies, juxtaposed with the white spray of waves crashing against the sheer drop of the cliff-face, but all I can see is your smile, and the corners of your eyes crinkling as the happiness seeps across your face.
Even more so when I’m days (and days and days) from seeing you, only I can’t help but miss you right now.
