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we’re driving on the freeway, the neon skyline catching my eye and half of my heart. she’s beside me, her fingers tracing figure eights on my thigh, and i’m leaning my head back against the seat, breathing even.

it’s eleven ten on eleven eleven, and i don’t know what to wish for.

a week ago, we were lying in bed when she asked me where i’d have us be, if we could be anywhere. here, i said, because i wouldn’t change anything.

i am lucky enough to have these moments every day– at least, lucky enough to notice them. they have nothing to do with love or drama or perfect scenery, just the simple understanding, and appreciation for the truth, that the world is a good place to be.

on eleven eleven eleven eleven, i wish that when i die, i’m smiling. i wish to die happy. at eleven twelve on eleven eleven, i have a sense of calm that’s slowly becoming more familiar.

it’s been a year, in this city. my heart is ready for another.