distance (part six)

You gave me no real direction on where to go
To get to you,
So I took the most tempting path--the one with beautiful forests and breathtaking views of the mountains and frequent stops at tranquil lakes and rushing rivers. (Thinking about it, I essentially took the Napeequa trail to get to you.)

Come to think of it, you're not trying to give me any direction--
You never meant to give me a map, so I drew one up myself.
It's covered in spidery lines and scribbled notes and scratched-out routes.
I'm definitely no cartographer. I'm more of a navigator. Although it's a wonder I'm still on the same path...or am I?

What do I do when I find you? Provided I don't end up loosing my footing on a slippery rock trying to cross the rapids, or stumbling around in the dark because I took a wrong turn, or trip over a root and fall into the stinging nettle...
What do I do if I find you?
The journey to you is taking a fucking long time. I'm assuming it's because I have to hike and hitchhike to get to you. My feet and my legs are sore, but at least my shoes are broken in. I'm still going.

What if I gave you directions to me instead? Would you even start out?

What is the journey to me?
For you, handsome, it's a couple hours drive. Ditch the GPS because I have a feeling, after driving around with you for a weekend, that you already know the way. Even if you don't, you'll figure it out--you're not stupid.

Get to me.

Come get me.

-Dana Winter