The way the sun hits your eyes,

the way the sun shines over the overpass, and your smile.

Punctuated,

perforated,

interrupted by moments of beauty and only visible from from the tops of hills,

or overpasses.

The lights flicker and breathe,

like on a birthday.

You flicker and breathe.

like on a birthday.

Sometimes its too cold in the car, and sometimes its cold only because you rolled the window down.

This place is devoid anything,

devoid of spirits even.

I can struggle to pull weight that isn’t my own.

I can manage to engage in sleep that is not my own,

well be a bit warmer with the windows up.

you’ll be a bit warmer, next to me,

like on a birthday.

(Originally published on Medium 10/21/2021 by Matthew Hopkins)