it must've been a mirage

I may ask you who he is, but I don't think I really want to know. He reminds me that you're the one driving. I'm just looking out the window at passing cities.

Sometimes I frame pictures in my head, I tell you, but I can never take them at home. My family doesn't see the starving artist inside me, dying from lack of art.

You take your hands from the wheel to write something heartbreaking, and I read it seven times before noticing that we've stopped. You are lying on the sidewalk in this desert, carving your name on every tree in the forest.

I remember why I agreed to be your passenger.

I roll down my window. All I see in mirrors are my eyes, and their colors. That is why. You smile, knowing the question.

The horizon will always be there to drive towards.