Every time I smell exhaust,
I think of you:

the streets clogged with cars,
the mountains rising around us.

Now I’m standing at another corner, waiting
for the light to turn green

or for the world to turn around
again.

The globe is round, which means:
I am always facing towards you.

The world is spinning, which means:
we are chasing each other, always.

Although I can’t see you ahead of me
or behind,

if I could fly fast enough in either direction,
I would be there.

But right now, we are moving at the same speed,
in the same circle—

a love story, except
that the timing’s all wrong.