My hands wrapped around your stick shift
Swerving on the 405, I can never keep my eyes off this
Still silent.
Your eyes wandered around the dashboard - in search of...? You'd forgotten. The wind rushed through the cranked-down window and howled in the midnight. The melancholic moonlight shone through the windscreen, stained with raindrops.
Within a few moments, the heavy breeze was instead kissing your flushed cheeks. Your hair fluttered away to the rhythm of the wind, and you hummed a slow tune softly as you leaned on the door with your elbow sticking out the window.
My neck, the feeling of your soft lips
Illuminated in the light, bouncing off the exit signs I missed
You turned towards him - wrapped in a black leather jacket, with one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the door and his tinted Aviators resting proudly on his nose.
All we do is drive
All we do is think about the feelings that we hide
The engine of the Mustang GT500 roared in the deafeningly silent roads of California. The lights from the motels and 24-hour shopping marts gleamed past you, leaving it all as a colourful and flashy blur.
There was no heaping laughter between the two of you as you shared your inside jokes or stories about your mediocre days in the city.
Just silence.
You shifted your gaze to him, the man who was driving with an air of indifference. He occasionally alternated his hands between the wheel and the stick, to shift gears. You sighed and turned away, recollecting the time you were relishing each other's company.
All we do is sit in silence waiting for a sign
Sick and full of pride
Still silent.
You reached towards the car radio to switch from the droning static to the local radio station, playing a gloomy indie tune, perfect for the mood. You turned to him, expecting a reaction of some sorts. Nothing.
He looked at you for a moment - as if to say something, but then he went back to staring at his dull reflection in the windscreen.
And a while later - he said nothing, and you said nothing too. Perfect.
All we do is drive
You drove on for the next 30 miles in this deliberate silence and finally reached your destination.
It was a diner - the Diner where the two of you had met. You waited at his table, and he dangerously flirted with you. He eventually took you out for a drive in his car that day, abandoning his friends and a film crew - just to be with you.
But that was a forever ago. Things changed, and he'd changed with them.
And California never felt like home to me
And California never felt like home
After the car reached a complete halt, you leapt off your seat, causing the fringes on the back of your bleached denim jacket to hustle with your every move. Your sheer and flowy white blouse hung from your shoulders, and the sole of your leather boots imprinted the pavement as you stepped into a puddle.
He crept out, passing his hand over the curves of the vehicle, with the pride of a careful car enthusiast. He shut the door with a calculated force and walked towards you, leaving the sound of the automatic lock to echo behind the two of you as you made your way into the Diner.
