She was old-fashioned
in the most peculiar of ways.
She never saved a phone number, but instead memorized them all:
technology was unreliable.
She was the proud owner of a ’57 Chevy Bel Air, despite its having virtually no safety features,
save the seat belt she never bothered with,
and was perpetually in the habit of running red lights because she “hadn’t the time to sit idle when there’s so much left to be seen in the world”.
Sometimes it was infuriating,
but only in the way that curiously made me desire her
She could tell me things about the past — things she shouldn’t know, without having been there.
And because of that very fact, I knew she would never decide to stay.
She already knew too much for one life to satiate her —
even the stars, in all their mystery and grandeur, were too still for such a