I drive quietly, Coltrane lulling me to the still meadows of my recent past.  I only listen when I can no longer resist the thought of her.  I listen too often.

The hum of the road beneath draws me into those darkened places I have so fiercely avoided.  I release myself to the memory of her flushed breath and parted lips.  I hold the wheel hard, pressing, as I once held her hips to my own.  I drive on, scarred with desire.  I am warmed by my despair.

Soothing murmurs quell my thoughts as the parched day slips into night.  I feel the cars pass, sensing they all drive with some unknown purpose.  I used to drive to forget but now the rhythm of the highway seams fills my body with a shameful desire and I drive on.  Faster.

I release the wheel, effortlessly letting the tires follow their predetermined path.  I listen and close my eyes.