What I want to do most of the time is drive slowly through quietened cities at ungodly hours with a playlist that makes me want to glide down endless roads. See how the buildings give out a more subdued urban feel, the kind of feeling you get when a paternal figure sings a lullaby in soft tones and deep voice and you can read the protectiveness beneath the strength. The lights, harshly reflected on passing cars, are shy observers that wait for me to go by without a thank you but I can't imagine the city without its yellow-washed midnight glamour.
And someone to sit beside me, static and loyal and familiar, as we move through the emptiness as if we own every single corner of the city. The past, the present, the future, all tossed into this mix of motions and rest.
A love like that. A love like a mix of motions and rest where we are in constant play of gestures and words and situations yet we find, subliminally, the rest we most desperately need within each other. A love like that. I should hope to have.
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