Cloth seats and crumbling paint, singing along to your Katy Perry and my Lana Del Rey,
Speeding past the stationary figurines posing for their imagined camera. They’re a little narcissistic, but we’re more than a little idealist, a clashing mix of the colors we love and the choruses they hate.
We’re too loud when we’re on our own, too small in the empty buildings, but it’s never been more electric.
Store brand soda and loose change in the cup holder is our two-way ticket to the assured existence of, ‘one day’, and the wind weaving through my eyelashes and shouted promises from behind the glass as the tempo turns from wistful words and eyes turned downwards to exhilarated bursts and hands through my hair.
Cola bubbles on glossy lips and a world revolving just fast enough to keep the breathing fast.