Boxes on the highway,
Going too fast to catch a glimpse of faces.
This is all I've ever known and still, I find it strange.
Drivers and passengers,
Living lives I know nothing about,
Though there is a possibility I have passed them before, at some point,
And this makes me think.
Everywhere I look:
Ahead.
To the side.
In my rear view mirror.
So many boxes on wheels,
Racing on a road carved out of nature,
Where the rock and trees still remain but don't catch many eyes anymore.
Small, big,
Four doors, Two.
With so many people,
Conversing with each other,
Or thinking to themselves,
And none of them thinking about this.