14/11/2017
I don’t have a car.
I’m not like the other guys who asks you where you are when it’s raining then come pick you up, waiting outside your office’s doors with an umbrella open, ready to tuck you in, to keep you from getting wet.
I don’t have a vehicle that would take you to places, asking you where you want to go, take a glance at your smile and your eyes that are filled with excitement as we head out of town, to places you ever dreamed of going.
I don’t have wheels that we could use to go out on dates, then just park on top of a hill, drink a few beers, lie on our backs as we decipher the constellation of stars above us, or point out the places where we first met as we observed the city below us, glinting brightly at night.
I don’t have an automobile that has a heater to make you warm during cold nights, or that has a stereo that I can turn the volume up and let you hear your favorite songs as you belted them out loudly, not really minding whether or not you’re in tune, or that has plush seats at the back where we could cuddle perfectly, then make out.
The things I only have are my feet and my legs.
But.
I could still take you to places. I could walk in the pouring rain, heading towards your office, wait for you outside, then we would run to any shelter that could keep us from getting wet, but we already are. We could look into each other’s eyes and just smile. We could walk together under the deluge, wearing our wet clothes, dance, laugh and jump in mud puddles as I look in