From The Passenger Seat

Often times we forget what a privilege it is for us to experience the simplest yet most personal things in someone's life up close. This is to that privilege, may we never abuse it.

Your face. 
As sunlight streams through the window & hits me right the eye, but I battle through because I want to look at you. 

Your face.
As you curse & swear in that matter-of-fact tone of yours, dripping with sarcasm at the inadequate driver just up ahead. 

Your face. 
As you sing along to the songs in languages I know little to nothing of, with so much gusto & feeling one might think this was a scene from a film. 

Your face. 
As you lean back and stretch out your limbs proportionate to the steering and the brake pad, making driving look like a seamless act as opposed to the calculated risk that it is. 

Your face.
As you turn to look at me at red lights and smile, eyes twinkling behind that one chipped lens, dimples barely seen beneath the scruff that despite myself I find fairly attractive.

Your face.
The expressions.
The songs.

Privileges I bask in with my front row seat that only cost me my heart, that I willingly give you to safeguard.

For I know that much like how you ensure I put my seat belt on right, you will be as attentive with my love, because you're the only one that has managed love me right. 

- SB
4.06am, 18th July 2016
The Front Seat


SB is a conflicted soul of sorts, who is mad enough to go chase after what she really loves as opposed to conform to society and her mother's idea of a successful person. She prays she makes it in life, because she will not be able to tolerate the nagging that would follow if she doesn't. Her inspiration comes from everything around her, as well as made up situations in her head. Good luck distinguishing between the two. 

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