Moab

Hotel sheets pulled tight across tired muscles, twenty years of coming here and we still stay at the same dingy inn. The bathroom smells of chlorine, but these pillows are the most perfect pillows in the entire world.

It's many years ago we were here, do you remember? Months of New York City screamed in our brains, we were exhausted of the adventure. Middle of January, we drove down through light dustings of snow and were maybe the only patrons here. We went out to the monuments, rocks carved by ages, by eons, we were all alone and the silence left a hissing sound in our ears.

You were afraid of heights. We stood at the edge of the impossibly deep canyon and you trembled violently, but made yourself go to the edge. We were so tired, we were reeling from what we had seen and didn't know who we'd become, yet.

I thought of you today as we hiked to the arch at sunset. Wondered where you were. We shared such a strange existence. Today I don't know who you are.

The pillows are the same, as ever.