you always said you wanted to see the world.

we never had much money, you and i. we could never go travel the continents and we could never see the seven wonders of the world -- [[although, i kept telling you that our love was a wonder itself]] -- and it frustrated you to the point of madness. you were so desperate for change, for adventure, for escape, that you would have done anything to explore the world. i remember how some nights, at 3 a.m., you would shake me and wake me up and take me to the car. you'd never tell me where we were going, and would simply drive silently to some abandoned or eerily beautiful place. when we'd get there, we'd spend hours and hours there. we'd hold each other in utter silence as we waited for the sun to rise. then you'd drive us back home, and we'd fall asleep for the rest of the day on the floor of our living room. we'd always be too tired to make it to our bedroom.

the first few times you took me with you to your late night escapes, i loved every second of it. it brought me peace and serenity, and i knew it kept you sane, too. but as time passed and as you grew more and more desperate to leave, i became more and more exhausted. the truth is, i was perfectly happy with being home, because being home meant being with you. and i didn't care where i was as long as you were by my side.

you never could explain to me why you felt the need to run away from the world we lived in. you kept saying you wanted to see and experience everything outside of the small, pathetic town we were in, but you and i know you weren't running from the routine life we lived. you weren't running away from the humdrum days that marked our weeks. you weren't running away from the limits that chained us, either.

the only thing you were running from, darling, was yourself.