Parallel Lines

Two-way highway ahead and I'm going 79 on a stretch of 65, clearly not thinking.
About driving, anyways.
The four lanes blend to two, and I get in the fast lane, thinking of you.
Black hair.
Brown eyes.
Eyes that smile.
A car pulls up next to me, also speeding, aligned with me, and neither of us pull away from the other, staying parallel for a stretch.
It's funny how much you and I are the same.
Two parrallel lines.
Two copies. Perfect copies.
Key and a lock.
If I say the lines, will you say them with me, I wonder?
I slow down, focus more on driving.
When I stop, there is a man playing a yukalaylee on a porch, smiling, squinting with the sun in his face. My music plays loud and streams into my car through of my open windows, and my stereo is going, but the beat of my stereo seems to blend with the strings of his song. I wave and he nods.
I smile as I think how much we blend perfectly together.

Dressed

"I'm so tired playing," she sings. "Playing with this bow and arrow," the stereo belts. "Gonna give my heart away."
I brush my teeth, and rinse for a fresh feeling. I take off my glasses, set them aside.
With my contacts in I shave, then run my fingers along the smooth lines of my face.
Can't be a hot mess.
I exhale, wrestle with creased pants.
I adjust my tie, pulling and pushing it stout around my neck.
The fishbowl bathroom bulbs burn bright and I stare at my features in the mirror.
My left shoulder tingles, twitches, from a workout last night, and I rub it, then put the sport jacket on, button the first, but not the second.
Confidence swells.
This new frame of mine is just fine.
"..." The stereo belts.
I take a look outside, glancing for weather patterns and making my own novice forecast.
No umbrella.
"From this time, unchained, we're all looking at a different picture through this new frame of mineeee," she sings, bass heavy.
For a minute I sway with the music.
I tie my shoes, rub them, brush off a smudge for a cleaner, clearer shine.
In the morning I don't think about all the mess, the dirtiness, the faults, the failures, the causes or the actions, the decisions and the complexities. I inhale, I exhale. And pick up my keys, wallet, phone. And fix my hair one last time.
It's all perfect.
To think that thought seems disgusting. To say that thought out loud sounds even more vial. Nobody likes optimism, especially in the morning. But it's a thought I can't get out of my mind. My heart burns with the thought. My soul flourishes. I grin, or smile, or chuckle, or smirk, or am content with a twitch of my lips, or whatever the method of acknowledging one's contentedness is. And I adjust the cuffs of my sleeves, leaving them a half an inch from my coat, perfect, as I open the door.
"..., ...., ..." The guitar rifts. "This is the beginning of forever and ever."