She never wanted the car ride to end.

The drops of rain rolled over the windshield.

She opened the window next to her and breathed in

the fresh scent of rain and earth.

As she rode beneath the canopy of dead trees,

she wished she was alone.

She did not want her mother sitting next to her,

driving,

the car was too enclosed-

no space for words between them.

She never wanted to go home.

She gazed through the open car windows

at quirky, beautiful houses-

the kind of houses only pictured in storybooks-

where the family gathers next to the fireplace to

tell already told stories

and

to eat peanuts and drink hot chocolate

on an icy winter night.

The girl imagined the sort of people

who would live in these

homes.

She would like these people to be her neighbors.

The girl spotted a Victorian mansion

and thought a sad princess might be

trapped inside.

The roof was a triangle

and dirt brown.

The bricks were granite and pale.

The green light flashed,

and as her mother rode on,

she could swear she had seen

the face of a lost princess

peering out from a window.

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