I longed for road trips. Mountains or hills flatten by the pavement of tar lined with dashed yellow lines, overlooking the ocean, Pacific or not. The gorgeous midsummer sun would dance on the surface of the water, to the music of the cooling breeze, as we listen to anything that comes on the radio. A sun hat, a beaten pickup truck, and you cursing at my once again failed attempt to read the map. We would end the day, somewhere in the middle of no where, still very much lost but life is still beautiful with roasted marshmallows and a blanket of glittering stars over our heads, tired but content, we would pitch our tent and continue our adventure the next sunrise.
