A Diary Page In An Old Journal.
by e5m
A night like this, staring down a white line and it feels like I’m not even moving. And as the headlights slice the endless sea of dark, the engine hums to the malancholy that keeps calling me home. Memories roll by with every lamp post I pass and the windshield wipers seem to beat to the rhythm of my pounding heart. The could haves and should haves punctuate every memory until there’s nothing left but a cold emptiness and a dark stretch of highway. I’m trying to forget but the poetics of space will leave an aftertaste of everything that used to be.