Soft orange sunlight is filtering through the trees on the riverbank, streaming through those oft-exulted red and yellow leaves.

The trees are lovely back home in the fall, but bliss and exhaustion have salted our eyes, making everything more

urgent.

It's far too early and it’s safe to say we’re in the middle of nowhere.

You’re the only reason I want to be here. Dozing in your lap trucking through town after town that history's already begun to forget. I don’t think I’ll forget us.

Yet even the steel mills rust away.

I'm trying to remember my parent's wedding rings, and I wonder if time and oxidation claimed those too, before I could immortalize the way you’re supposed to wear them. A comforting weight, something to absentmindedly twist.

Round and round.