I glance back at her,
see her staring.
I shrug.
I ask flatly.
"I just see you staring out the window,
and I want to know what you're thinking,"
she says.
I shrug again.
What I'm thinking?
I see a car with an
out-of-state plate
Chevrolet scrawled across the back.
I see familiar highway
stretching out
in all the cardinal directions
I see the grass poking up.
I turn back and I see you,
and I wonder if when you hear these songs,
you're thinking of
him too.
But I just leave it at a shrug
and a mumbled "nothing really,"
not really wanting to know the answer.

a/n: I don't really want to know her reaction.