don't freak out. i'm not smoking a whole bunch. i'm just writing.

I rolled the window down a few more inches. The wind sucked the smoke out of my car faster than I could even exhale, but I knew even then the smell was sticking to me. A few strands of hair slipped quietly from my pony tail and whipped in front of my face as I drove. Headlights appeared from behind the hill in front of me and I quickly hid my cigarette by my thigh - as if they could see me - as if it mattered.

There were no street lights and the moon peered tiredly from behind the clouds, suffocated by the strength of the darkness. I could only see the few feet of road in front of me and a few trees to either side...and now headlights, which ironically kept me from seeing really anything at all. The approaching car and I flew past each other, and his red taillights faded quickly, first to a deep crimson red, then finally, to black.

For whatever reason, I always assume that other drivers are men. "That guy just cut me off." "What a jerk." "Thanks a lot, buddy." ...all my road rage phrases have male connotations. Does everyone do that? Or do other people actually call drivers who cut them off bitches rather than jackasses? Am I really that girl...the girl who's been hurt a few times so she subconsciously blames all her problems on guys and thus becomes an old, angry, man-hating spinster?

I glanced in the rear view and took another drag.

Maybe I'm not angry and jaded and pessimistic... I thought about the idea of that car. We were going in complete opposite directions and knew nothing about each other. We were alone. But we were together.

For a split second we shared the road, we shared the darkness and the trees and the wind. We were side by side. Equals. Together.

And then we weren't.

It reminded me of the many people who have played that role in my life. People I shared moments with, shared time with, shared wind with. People who were going entirely different places than I was. People who were there. And then were gone.

I thought about the boy. The boy who gives an almost tangible meaning to the idea of going different directions. I thought about the 4 years that we shared wind. It must have been dark then too, he couldn't really see me, and I feel certain that I hardly ever saw him. -- But man, did we share wind...

...and now his taillights are fading too. Some days they're crimson, some they're nearly black, and some days, in fact, in more recent days, they seem to be a little brighter than usual, a little closer than I remembered them being, than I want them to be.

But they're taillights nonetheless.

I took another drag. And felt stupid for being so metaphorical with myself. Sometimes thinking philosophically, or deeply, or really just thinking at all, makes me very uncomfortable. How presumptuous I am to think that my thoughts and ideas and stupid metaphors are of any substantial value.

I took another drag. I felt the heat of the lit end tinge my fingertips and flicked the butt out the window. I definitely smelled like smoke...