When we pull away, he rests his hand on my thigh pressed next to his and we ride like that for a long time; the only time he moves his hand is to take better control of a sharp curve or to adjust the music, but he always puts it right back. And I always want him to.

I want to do everything with you

Why does everybody have to be with somebody? It’s a stupid delusion and a really pathetic way of thinking.

Maybe you should get rid of me,” I whisper onto his lips. “Never,” he says, kissing me once softly. “You’re mine for as long as you breathe.

Because this is our life. We met on the road; we grew to know and to love each other on the road. It's where we were meant to be for however long, and it's what we're going to do until it becomes clear that we're meant to do something else.

There was no logic or any sense of purpose except that I knew I had to do something other than what I was doing, or I might not make it through this.

One more thing: don’t feel bad for not telling me that you loved me. You didn’t need to say it. I knew all along that you did.