I can drive down those empty country roads and just be alone with my thoughts but truly, my memories.
I can open up boxes that I never would before.
I can explore possibilities and what ifs, had my river changed direction.
I can be alone with the sadness.
The kind of sadness that sticks to your ribs.
It fills me up and over the edge.
It seeps out of me like swirls of tendrils and branches. It permeates the very air I breathe, taints the water I drink.
It puts clouds over the sun in my days and flips my world upside down in a matter of moments.
Mere moments, the threads and shreds that my life hangs on.
Like that spoken hope that dangles from a string, the moments are what dangle on such delicate lines from my life, just like a child’s mobile.
I pull them to myself and let my thoughts run free…
What if the happiness had not stopped there?
Does it not have to be so abrupt?
And then it all comes back to me, I gather it all back up and put it back in boxes.

But things didn’t happen like that… and well, thats just the way it is…

As I pull into the driveway, I am right back where I started.