My car is safe. It’s small and warm, and no one can hurt me if I’m just sitting in here, parked.
It's a mechanical womb I take refuge in when the world is just too much.
I turn on the heat slightly with a nudge of my cold fingers and let the warm air hold me; comfort me.
I am cradled in the driver's seat and soft voices of static offer their company.
I nestle myself in the warm velvety darkness of this womb and place my hands over my chest.
I feel my own heart beating.
The hum of the engine resonates though my spine, into my chest and whispers a lullaby... soon after I feel myself drift.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 6:37 PM UTC
My car is safe. It’s small and warm, and no one can hurt me if I’m just sitting in here, parked.
It's a mechanical womb I take refuge in when the world is just too much.
I turn on the heat slightly with a nudge of my cold fingers and let the warm air hold me; comfort me.
I am cradled in the driver's seat and soft voices of static offer their company.
I nestle myself in the warm velvety darkness of this womb and place my hands over my chest.
I feel my own heart beating.
The hum of the engine resonates though my spine, into my chest and whispers a lullaby... soon after I feel myself drift.
Sometimes I will stay in my car for 30 minutes to like, an hour and just kinda... feel good, because I am terrified of the my life and all the problems that come with it. I know that once I step foot out of the car that I will have to face everything.
It's hard to pull myself from that comfort.
