Short Stories

Wanderer

I'm lost behind the wheel because I'm thinking of all the pretty little things you did.

The way your luminous smile always lit up the whole city's broken street lights, how your long dark hair blew in the wind. How your eyes widened whenever I asked you about what new music you were listening to.

You really, really loved music.

You listened to everything, from rock to blues, pop to hip-hop. Always humming, singing and tapping to a beat. But no matter what song would play, you made your own beat, different from any song that played, and your beat was always the same. Always in time. Never changing. I wish I could play that beat on repeat.

The way you rested your cheek in your palm when we went to the café. You sat across the table from me with your caramel latte on the coaster in front of you. Always on the coaster.

You would have an earphone in, listening to a playlist with your favourite songs, but only ever one earphone. That way you could still listen to me when I spoke to you.

The way you made me lose myself in your words, slowly losing consciousness of everything else around me.

The way you always gazed at the stars from the passenger seat while we drove down the road under the dark sky.

I wish you were here. Taking up this empty space in the passenger seat, gazing at the stars as I drive down this tarmac at such a lonely hour.

Yeah, I really wish you were here.
Yeah, I'm always thinking about you.
Yeah, I'm really missing you.
Yeah...
                      I'm lost behind the wheel, again.

— matches-and-melancholy