It was two years ago, late at night, and we were on another one of our typical driving escapades. The rain was pouring down, blurring your windshield so that it was more of a window into another, more blurry world than a shield of protection. I imagined it a window into the future, and suddenly something scary crossed my mind. I wouldn't have you forever. Someday, you were going to grow up, and our whimsical adventures of circling Plaza and playing hide-and-go-seek inside of cars and saving creatures from the road would have to end.
"...We only have two years left. You're going to grow up.... what am I going to do then?"
"Oh, come on. That's super far away... you should stop thinking like that."
Two years has become two months. Soon it will become two weeks, and then two days, two hours, two minutes, two seconds...
I never stop thinking like that.
Same.
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