i guess, wherever we are traveling, and in whatever direction, and towards what (a destination? an emotion? power? a goal?)- we all want the same damn thing.

when we were driving to Vermont, i liked that the windows were down and the leaves would greet us mutely in less than muted tones of yellow and red. in between bouts of launching into off-tune singing of whatever was playing on the radio, i stuck my fingers out the window (the way my parents always scolded me about not doing!) and wove them through the air.

the passing coolness would ripple across my skin, and giddyly, stubbornly, i kept my fingers outside. equal parts full, and filling.

i checked outside.
leaves still reaching toward the sky like my grasping fingers.

something mended at that moment at the same time, something else broke. something along the lines of hearts, and walls.