This time next weekend I'll be some where in the middle of Arizona expecting to find a difference in the sun's light at dusk. It's around this time next weekend that I'll be at the wheel of a car that I find to be ridiculous in size. This time next weekend I'll let my nostalgia wash over my mind, making all the sights, sounds and smells bigger than they have to be. I'll leave the dirt on my skin so I can wear it as badge of honor when I arrive at my destination. I want three state suns to shine on the crown of my head. I'm gonna bring my Ocean in the strands of my hair but the desert's tan in my hands. I wanna ask if we are out of the mountains yet. Are we near the red dirt? I'll find it tragic that a town can be dissected with two lanes. Everyone will complain.
My expectations will be higher than my state's chipped shoulders and the magic will only follow me through the Texas state line. Turns out, I was just riding on the sweet air's decline and the beauty will come harder and the sky light will work longer.