How We Make The World Disappear

8:30 on a Monday night, we finally make it to Throggs Neck Bridge, and start to cross over.  I rented an upscaled SUV and we're just floating for the last 2 hours. Coming back to Long Island after a 3 day weekend away upstate. It reminded me of a plane almost done with its dissent, and you can start to see familiar lights down on the ground.  You're sunk down in the passenger seat with one knee up on the door and your left hand reached over clasped in mine. A/C and music on, with a light rain beating on the windscreen and dancing with the wipers. You're staring out the window and I'm glancing at you once in a while. You feel me looking, you know I'm looking, and I see your cheek raise up from smiling. We squeeze our clasped hands once in a while.  Our thumbs stroking the sides of each other's hands, because feeling each other's skin is life to us. We're never not touching. The familiar undulations of the sectioned bridge road adding movement to our bodies, singling our approach home.  But the world is still not yet invited in.  Our one chore will be grabbing our leather weekend bags from the back seat once we pull into the garage, which will remain unpacked for about 2 days, lol. We know we're coming home only to curl up in our bed, 2 hours in separate chairs is torture for us.  You'll be on my chest talking about what we liked on the trip, we'll giggle and kiss till we fall asleep fully embraced.