any sound gets her to the window
she knows he isn't anywhere near
went back on his way
she misses the silence-
his silence that had made her mad
she wants it back
those highways, the small stops on the way
his tattoos on his biceps
his crooked hat
the smell of gasoline
his brusque caring
his facade cemented into her
she trembles with that memory
encloses it to her extremes
"was it for the best, or was it for the worst that wild trucker had taken over?'
My date with the trucker continues. Click on it to read the rest of it. All stand alone and yet are connected.