You and I went for a drive today
squeezing ourselves into your car
jostling for space amongst five years worth of love and loss
lapping an aimless mosaic
through  the streets we grew up in.

I say I want to clear the air
looking at the  scars your hands collected since I last saw them
and you say it's funny we are both so stubborn
or we would've spoken sooner
watching the road
with the wry grin that has always stayed with me

Of all the things we talk about,
the hollowness you say you feel is what echos in your face
and the steely timbre in your voice
is so different from the happiness of when we first fell in love,
and I can see it  grip your steering wheel
hidden in your broken knuckles
every time that you accelerate.