They both get in on a whim—
One drives, while one complains,
“Why do you get to pick it again?” She murmured .
“It’s my car,” he replies
As one by one, the music plays,
Each song a doorway of days past.
Some feel freeing, wild, and young,
Melodies covered like warm summers sun
They laugh at one absurd choice,
Dramatic beats play, a duet unfolds
Once, silence held unspoken fear,
Guarded thoughts, h...
