No one would come to look for us. No ship lights glaring our vision. No helicopters whirling around trees trying to win a game of Hide and Seek with our shadows. If we went far enough, we'd be able to reach horizons and flip hemisphere lines to fit our
own standards.

If we went far enough, our parents would be forced to admit the one hard thing, That is indeed is not a phase This is in
fact not a passing star in the sky. That this could very well outlast their dripping hourglass. It is the night that gives us the strength to be free, to blend with shadows and avoid streetlights. It is the night that we shed our daytime skins and slip into something more comfortable.

When we bury ourselves under mountains of pillows and blankets, hiding from the approaching hours and preparing our mouths
to hiss at the sun. It is at night that I find myself going on all of the adventures. All of the ice cream runs right before
11 pm morphs into midnight. Driving with the windows down and the radio off, the sounds of two or three cars passing us;
comfort us.

You drive hand in mine for hours after the ice cream has melted as one would do for a restless baby. The movement of the car paired with the warmth of the right hand coasts me off into a slumber that only warm milk and cookies would be able to provide. Hours fall into one another like domino's falling off of the coffee table in the foyer. Hours are counted by the trees shapeshifting into mountains and then into the sand from beaches that have been kissed one too many times by a teasing ocean current.

It is moments like these that life should be equipped with a pause button and time stops but I can still feel your lips comfortable
placed on mine. "Your lips are so soft" is all that you could muster that one night, it was the only thing I heard like a scratched record stuck on a loop; "your lips are so soft," often phrased with a period at the end, or even a question mark as if you are unsure that these lips are actually mine and you are actually kissing them.