do you ever attach yourself to a car—
the way it smells, the way it drives—
as if the engine hums a melody
of memories you wish to forget but cannot?
you step into one just like theirs,
and it’s as if the past breathes again,
each seat, each scent, a ghost of what was.
you think, maybe if i own it, i can rewrite it.
buy the same model, the same colour,
but this time, let the road carve sweeter stories.
let the wheels turn away from pain,
and the engine sing a song of healing.
perhaps it’s not the car at all,
but the need to drive forward,
to leave the haunting behind
and replace it with a journey that's truly yours.
Dec 22, 2024
Dec 22, 2024 at 4:44 PM UTC
do you ever attach yourself to a car—
the way it smells, the way it drives—
as if the engine hums a melody
of memories you wish to forget but cannot?
you step into one just like theirs,
and it’s as if the past breathes again,
each seat, each scent, a ghost of what was.
you think, maybe if i own it, i can rewrite it.
buy the same model, the same colour,
but this time, let the road carve sweeter stories.
let the wheels turn away from pain,
and the engine sing a song of healing.
perhaps it’s not the car at all,
but the need to drive forward,
to leave the haunting behind
and replace it with a journey that's truly yours.
maybe, just one day - i might forget those memories.
