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I want to pack up a few suitcases, load down the car with what we find necessary, put on my best sundress and run away with you.

We'll leave in the morning, light dappling the car, setting out on that beautiful, lonely desert highway, looking for nothing and forever. But it wouldn't even occur to me to look for anything, my fingers laced in yours, eyes closed but still seeing the sun. I would feel the heat of the sun through the windshield and the sunshine radiating from inside you, the force that keeps me together and whole.

Somewhere between here and eternity we'll get caught in a rainstorm, stopping the car on the shoulder of some rural highway and climb in the backseat. We'll cuddle away the afternoon, talking in whispers against each others' skin, dreaming of where to go next and what we'll see, living out the romance of being gypsies.

We'll set up a canvas tent and sleep in meadows. Before you wake up, I'll go pick daisies for you and make breakfast, waking you up from your dream a little guiltily, staring into your starry eyes, waiting for recognition; it never takes long.

And of course we let our imaginations run wild as we trek across the country, pretending we're Bonnie and Clyde on the run. At other times we're Lewis and Clarke, exploring the West for the first time. Maybe we occasionally become Romeo and his Juliette, a happy ending this time, though just as violently passionate.

But we're always there, with each other, feeling each others' presence and pretending, hoping that it will never end.

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