~Luxury
-whoosh-
damn, domestic, Ford.
Next to the white paint chippin' fence towers a 19th century barn stable. In front we're sittin' on a grassy with few weeds, shaded incline. Our bikes leaning against the fence, we recline on our arms, occasionally throwing longing glances into one another's sadness tinged eyes after long moments of staring at the dirt beneath us, picturesque farmland sprawling out ahead of our periphery, or round the bend as the rumble or purr of a vehicle approaches.
She's the most beautiful girl I've ever met. Her freckled porcelain hands clasp the de-leafed stem of a fern; precious fingers slowly whittle the stem down as the velvet gloved wind of August rustles both our sweat tinged locks.
Autumn is rapidly approaching and our time together is being swept away just as quickly. We both know it.
This is our last day together.
