One of these days we can get out of here.
Maybe not far, we can start small. An apartment or a rental home, away from the parents who aren’t yet ready to leave be our love and the friends who don’t believe it. We can spend days and nights together, untouched by the world outside.
And then, one day, when I’m older, we can see the world. Amsterdam and France, New York and Chicago. Everywhere and anywhere in between and beyond, the universe is as much ours as we are its own creation.
Nights dripping with sweetness in cheap motels. Laughter in fast food joints and drive-throughs, salt on your lips. Hours on lonely highways when we can’t be lonely at all, we have each other and a stack of CDs, nothing more we could need.
Every morning the soft light will come shining through a new window, each night the moonlight streams through a different set of blinds. And in each of those moments I’ll be with you in whatever city, truck stop, or tourist town we’ve spent the night.
That’s what I mean every time that I look at you and whisper “let’s get out of here”. It means “let’s start a life”.
And I mean it.