Kinda, maybe, sorta.

Cold that night, at least I think it was cold. All of my memories from that winter seem to be covered in a permanent frost. Must have been too cold for walking anyway, because we were in the car; we were roaming along back roads and unintentionally circling the small town that had become such a trap. Music playing, country probably, and I was probably rolling my eyes and secretly wishing he would sing along.

An unused logging road, or at least that's what I would think of it as. I have no idea if logging ever happened in that tiny town, but to my northern brain that's what seemed logical. Turning the lights off, kissing, and staring and kissing again. And cliche, cliche seemed to have become my life I suppose. And I suppose it didn't really matter after all, cliche or not for that moment it was perfect.

And soon, too soon we both grew sleepy and turned the lights back on and drove home. Later we discovered that the car was leaking fumes, that we were lucky to shake off the sleep and drive away that night. But in blissful ignorance of imminent danger, we lingered and said the things that are sometimes more important then death.

In the next months and years I would replay memories like my favorite movies, again and again until I could recite the lines along with the shadow people in my mind. This night however I purposefully didn't re-watch, didn't want to remember in the same way. I wanted the corners of the picture to remain crisp and exact, so that on those days that I gently took it out it would still be shining and new. The details have faded because of this I suppose, but the feelings are as wonderfully spontaneous as they were on that chilly chilly night.