Sam’s Journal of Survival

Kissing Framed by a Car Window

011526 This journal is fiction. The voice you’re reading is a character, not the author.

Kissing Framed by a Car Window

I think about a lot of things when I drive home.

Today there was an accident on my usual route, so traffic slowed to a crawl. No way around it. Just waiting.

The car next to me held a young couple. They weren’t arguing or distracted by their phones. They were kissing. Not a quick, casual kiss. The kind that takes up space. The kind that assumes time isn’t running out.

I watched longer than I meant to.

Seeing that made me feel lonelier than usual. The feeling surprised me with how sharp it was. I don’t spend much time thinking about what I don’t have, but in that moment, it was right there beside me, framed by a car window.

It occurred to me that most days, I don’t speak to anyone outside of work. My assistant. Colleagues. Meetings. Conversations with purpose and structure. Entire days pass without a single personal exchange.

I hadn’t realized how narrow my world has become.

I wonder sometimes if I’ll ever be able to have a man in my life again. It isn’t something I think about often. It feels easier not to. Easier to file it away as unnecessary.

But I used to imagine a future that included marriage. A child or two. I assumed those things would arrive naturally, the way people say they do when you’re young.

Now, every day that future feels less certain. Not impossible, exactly. Just farther away. Like something I once planned for without realizing how fragile the assumption was.

I don’t feel bitter about it. Just quietly sad.

By the time traffic moved again, the couple was gone. The moment passed. I drove the rest of the way home alone.

I made dinner. I fed the cat. I locked the doors.

Life went back to its careful shape.

Still, the image stayed with me longer than I expected.

I don’t know what it means yet. I only know that today, I noticed the absence — and that noticing it hurt more than I thought it would.