Letters to a person I'll never send

Fantasy

I fantasize about running away.
Packing a bag and some food and just driving.
Away from here.
Away from everything.
But I'd take you with me.
I fantasize about you and I running through the streets together in the rain,
running and running until our legs give out and we lay on the cool concrete and let the rain pitter on our foreheads.
I fantasize about shaking out a blanket and laying it down on the ground,
plopping down on the cold dewey grass and patting the seat next to me.
Laying down and pointing out each and every little constellation.
Orion is my favorite.
I fantasize about you and I pulling on some old boots and going out to that one park I always talk about.
Taking you on the same trail I always take, and stopping at every little monument.
Showing you the little rock I placed there when I was still holding my fathers hand.
I pass it every time I'm there.
I fantasize about showing you all my favorite places and kissing you at every one.
I fantasize about us.
I fantasize about what we could be.
And then I wake up in my room.
Cold, alone, and not where I'm supposed to be.
Where am I?
Oh right.
I'm (not) home.