It was in the early stages of spring, when at night there's still a chilled breeze.. A light night shower which was beating off the windshield while she was crying into her steering wheel. Something interesting about moving on, the good moments, are great. the bad moments bring you so low that you can feel them deep down in the pit of you. Her hands were now a light purple from beating them so hard against the dashboard. Something meaningful played lowly in the background, radios try to talk to you when you aren't listening. At least that's what I've always said. She begs through desperate sobs for some sort of sign, some sort of guidance. She believes in letting the universe know that she's ready. To know that she can handle anything that is thrown at her.
A distance buzz goes off from her bag perched on the passengers seat. Sitting up and hesitantly reaching for her phone she read the message that lit up her car.
A request. A question. One which involved a warm blanket, a black cat, and a silly sci fi movie.
She wiped her face quickly and agreed.
Pulling behind a familiar black pick up truck, the moonlight hit her hair just right.
Brown loose curls falling below her shoulders, a short floral dress with thick black tights and boots.
and A good friend waits outside. He takes her hand and leads her inside. kisses are shared. laughs are had. and his strong forearms wrap around her shoulders. She could fall asleep. He knows it.
They're not in love. They're not having sex either.
Two lonely people who trust the universe.
Two lonely people who need the company to survive.
but don't even realize it until its the middle of the night.
Long night drives.
Rose smelling skin.
Candles lit on windowsills
Dust collecting on stacks of books about faith and love
Because they don't believe in either anymore
and that's how they found each other.
It's the friendships you stumble into by accident that have the most lasting effect on you.
and don't ever forget that.
He tells me that daily.
He goes to a craft school in the mountains.
He talks of religion and wood carving.
and Smokes out of a pipe.
But frequently he'll ask me a scent of a candle, a perfume. A movie quote. or title
He's writing his story.
I'm writing mine.
It's the friendships you stumble into by accident.
Never. Ever. Forget that.
2087
dailybridgerton
titsay
annaxmalina
jacobvanloon
theartofmadeline
vaporwave