Personal Space Pilot

Space occupies my mind. I consider the distance between you and I. Leagues and years create an impassable chasm. Unable to find answers, my head is as good as empty.

“Where do you think you’re going?” she rasps, hot whiskey-tinged breath on my ear. She stands too close. She always does. I suppose with a body like that you don’t have to worry about intruding; most guys don’t mind.

Suppressing a chill that wants to course up my spine I eye the door, “Just figurin’, you know, a way to go.”

She’s at the other ear now, or is she a million miles away, “Why you want to go, when you don’t know where you want to be?” She breaths. Her hand is hovering somewhere near my arm. “I know where you want to be.”

Nowhere. That’s where I want to be. It’s a hard destination to find with a lot of someplaces in the way.

“No,” I sigh, “you don’t.”

“I think I do,” she practically sings, “and I can take you there. I’ll be your…guide.”

“Darlin’,” I turn to face her, “The last thing I need is for you to be my pilot.”

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