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.