I go for a drive. My thoughts follow the road. Squeezing up next to each other. I brake. Everyone hurries when they’re younger. Everything a bother when you’re old. You never get it, at the time.
I hit traffic. Heavy traffic. Late-returner’s frenzy. But it’s too late. I built myself a tower—a refuge, a place to be that shelters me and mine.
I pass drunks besotted by drinks and bars. Spiels and wheels both turn into time. Anticipation of the next turn is better when I know where I’m going.
Remembering pens us in. I’ve nailed loyalty. Buildings argue with each other, cut each other fat and thin. I’ve imagined love. No baludstrades, leading to a safe soft blob of green. A different life and what could be, but life didn’t agree. It left me a bookmark, flowers by the flickering light of the lamppost. It could be any post where dogs pee. I refuse to believe or disagree. I just keep going.
Shut in. Shut up. Come closer life said. I was too new. Too intense. Always vaulting the next step to get ahead.
Now traffic and silence, the screech of a horn. I brake in time. The beat of a heart, never so clear, until it’s not here.
Success cauterised my soul. Our picture together was too bright, too cluttered with new things. Something is moving and it’s not just the car. Radio static. Some sprocket is broken. I can no longer do it this way. Just speak to me. I need to know it didn’t have to be that way. Please tell me not to move on. I refuse to believe the fact that you’re gone.
Death and driving. I follow that road.