sometimes, i live a moment so loudly that i can feel the rain in my fingertips when i remember it. when you ease onto the on-ramp and the white lines come alive, a firefly rendezvous in the dark, and the sound of the motor against the concrete tunnels of I-79 is so loud that it echoes in the hollows beneath my ribs, in the space between my knuckles, then i look at you with fireflies in my eyes because you are just so invincible—noise personified—and i swear that fireflies are coming out of the exhaust, i swear that we leave earth. and maybe we only get one of these moments in a lifetime, and i think that would be kind of sad, because because my ears still buzz when i think of how the wind felt coming through the window, how powerful the engine was, how powerful I am and how the street signs bowed in reverence. but i guess i’m trying to say that if i only get one loud moment, i’m glad that it was with you— because to me, the sound of you is deafening LOUD KATIE MILLIGAN
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