The second of a nose scratch.
Finger cemented below, eyes shut down but a mind in racing competition with nostalgia.
Welcoming the wind, wind of you.
The smell of aftermath, of my hand when it had been ran through the soft tufts of brown hair upon your head,
rested delicately upon your lap,
or just from the smell that lingered on me from being in your car.
The sudden need to lay my head back. To take deep breaths and re-enter reality.