Monday, Aug. 09, 2004 - 10:31 a.m.
He stared out of the passenger window at the passing motorway, mile after mile of grey tarmac but wanted so much to connect with you, in silence and stillness. He wanted so much to be stopped and take your hands off the wheel and stroke your fingertips with his fingertips. He wanted to tease awake the aching sense of knowledge in the palm of your hand while trucks and cars hurried on and unaware. But there was one thing he wanted more. He wanted not to feel your fingers wrap white tighter around the wheel.
|