Maybe it was the smell of new paint. Fresh, glossy and sharp.
Maybe it was the wheels. Massive, black and strong.
Or maybe it was the stretch of blazing flames that emblazoned his frame.
My heart still beats fast.
My cheeks feel like they're on fire.
He doesn't need to speak to make me feel like I'm going to explode.
The stars are glimmering like the lights on a chandelier, the night breeze in my hair, canyons dotting the outline of the horizon; I feel free but invaded at the same time.
I'm alone in the dark but I'm not truly alone.
He is here, listening to my heartbeats, recording my pulse rates, analysing my biological chemical readings.
The leather seat is hard on my back.
The air-conditioning is too cold on my skin.
The soft jazz music on the radio feels suffocating.
I know I'm the one who suggested this drive, but I'm regretting it; calmness nor tranquillity nestling in my heart like I wanted to.
Now I feel it would be better to be stuck in the room, listening to a relaxing song on repeat, reading the same book for the third time and groaning over how annoying the main character is.
Now I feel it would be better to be in bed, tucked beneath thick blankets, wishing for rain to come pouring from the skies.
Now I feel it would be better to be in class, yawning as the lecturer drones on and on, checking my Facebook notifications when he's not looking.
Now I feel it would be better to be watching a boring news channel while munching on dip and chips.
But I can't find my voice to say, "Stop."
I can't find enough courage nor desire to halt him.
Because I want this night to last forever.
Never reaching our indefinite destination.
No matter what I feel now, I just want more seconds to spend with him.
Even if it means sleeping through the night with my heart racing like crazy.
