I’m in the car with my bare feet on the dash. The windows are open slightly where the warm rush of a breeze feeds into.
The love of my life is at the steering wheel in the seat beside me. His loose t-shirt flitted around him like my tank top did around me.
My thin, baggy pants fell to a scrunch at random points along my elevated legs. His shorts sat pressed still, against the seat.
My sandals were on the floor below me, waiting to be worn again. He wore his thick sandals as he pressed down on the pedals.
My short, curly hair moved with the wind around my head. Sometimes floating around as if there was no gravity, sometimes slicked back like a race car.
His—very—short hair hardly moved at all. Merely wiggling with the music as the wind danced to it.
The car drove on. We were going pretty fast, but it seemed as if we were flying smoothly.
In silence, but so lively. The breeze whisking by, but so lively. Loose clothing flapping gently, but so lively.
We are lively flying.