Image courtesy of X.

Driving through a dream, Wednesday into Thursday. It was a dream. Feet on the dashboard. Singing aloud to Lykke Li's great new album while taking detours, recovering from a lovely wedding.

She almost fell asleep. I didn't see traffic in the lanes for miles. The "small" car slipped through the countryside as we talked. About crime. Life. Married life and its myths. People who stop living because they grow older, as if waiting for death. Stopped and turned back as I missed a turn. Laughed and danced to Lady Gaga. Coffee and a sugary snack at a 1950s tea-shop. The marriage. Packed-up. Crawled into a seat. Pictures. More pictures. Smiles. Laughs. Holding hands through the night, fingers intertwined in the church. Those eyes, enough to lighten up every bit of me, to take me apart and reassemble me, and I shiver shiver shiver like I'm 12 again and got a sweet gift.

Visceral.

Every time the rain falls, think of me On a lonely highway