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Heading Home
The cruise control keeps your car at sixty.
Its dark.
All your headlights allow is the yellow and white lines on the road ahead.
You stare blankly,
Past your hand.
Your palm pressed lightly at one on the wheel.
Two and ten?
Three and nine?
One o’clock.
Your dry lips whisper quietly with the song on the radio,
But its playing so loud.
It's almost as if you aren’t making a sound.
You sigh and shudder as a chill hits your spine.
It crosses your mind as you pull your arms in,
You should close the roof,
But its such a beautiful night.
You glance up at the sliver of white in the sky,
Surrounded by gray clouds and white stars.
You look back to the road,
Wouldn’t want to crash now.
Another abandoned passes by.
How many are there on this road?
That’s at least five now.
It's late but you don’t mind.
You would keep driving,
Forever if you could,
To nowhere in particular.
Off through the night and into the sunrise of a new day,
But no.
You can’t.
Why?
With a yawn and a blink your eyes pull away from the console.
Almost out of gas.
You glance at the glowing green clock on the radio.
11:11.
Make a wish,
You’re heading home.
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