A Sorta Fairytale

Michael and Miranda crisscrossed the interstates together in her small gray car, from mountain valley to plain, the wind always rushing through the open window, the bike rack rattling.

The open road seemed to go on forever, her hand resting on his neck, his gently brushing her leg.

Like the song, it was a sorta fairytale. They could stop and start and pick back up whenever they felt like it. They could love and fall out and love again. They were constantly in each other's thoughts. They endured the miles. They lived for the next meeting. They lived for a day that never came.

The silver lining was elastic but it never snapped. Then one day Michael crossed a line. The bubble broke. Shattered car parts clattered across the road. Her final words were flat and cold. Words like rusty old car parts on the grass verge that had lost their meaning.

When Michael looked back down the highway it was empty, the road trips were a distant memory. Then he thought of the lyrics of the song.

"And I'm so sad
Like a good book
I can't put this day back
A sorta fairytale with you.."


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