It was just you and I. Windows down, heat on blast. Our favorite lyrics were blaring from the speakers. I stuck my hand out the window. It rode the wind current; I had no control of how it moved. And it was amazing. I looked at you. It was a soft look. And you smiled that beautiful smile right at me. And I knew my cheeks were the color of your hair. I looked back out the open window, at my hand. It was weightless. And so was I.

We stopped at this raggedy ol' diner on the side of the road. I was craving breakfast, and you wanted their signature meal. You always wanted the signature meal of a diner you've never been to, in a city that doesn't know you. We met this gorgeous bohemian girl. Her hair was of midnight. Her eyes, well, they were the same color as the weed she sold us. We ended up smoking in some random playground. We sat on the swings. And we swung. And we were high, so high, and we swung so high. My feet hit branches, and crinkly leaves fell beneath me. I knew that if I pushed myself a little bit more, I could get a little bit higher. And that would leave me a little bit closer to the stars. They were so bright that night. After swinging for hours, I let my feet come down and slide against the black rubber mat to jolt myself to a stop. You were still swinging. I smiled blindly at you. You were so carefree.

“What?” You chuckled.

I was still high. And I felt like an uncaged bird, but I oddly wanted to just stop and stare. I pulled out a hideous patchwork blanket that I sewed together a few years back. I spent months gathering patches from everywhere: old clothes of my family, baby blankets, the extra fabric that craft stores would throw away at store's close. I set it down on the grass near the swing-set. Plopping down, my hair spread out and I laid on the blanket like a starfish.
The sky wasn't black. There were indigo hues, like that worn-out, nearly vintage Michigan Wolverines shirt you have with the hole on the seam. There were navy-blue hues with the sparkle of the stars scattered across it; the color was practically identical to the jeans you wore when you took your horse out for a ride. The stars glistened.

— nikkiquinn

a little something.

by nikkiquinn


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