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#drivingthoughts
Dad takes the backroads,roads that bend and wander,that don’t rush to arrive anywhere. Twenty-five, the fastest he’ll go,sometimes less,like he’s stretching the distance on purpose,like time might loosen its gripif he drives slow enough. At every turn,his hands steady on the wheel,corners taken with quiet precision while he hums. He carried this with himacross state lines,through places that never stayed long enoughto be called home. I never understood it then.The unnecessary backroads. But now,in the quiet between destinations,I think I do. Maybe it gave him space to breathe—one extra minute to clear his thoughts,where no expectations had to be met,getting lost without a destination. Maybe each miletook a little weight with it,carried it off into neighborhoods and empty roadsno one else would notice. Maybe this is what time looks likewhen you learn how to hold it gently. Because now,without thinking,I miss the turn that would get me home faster. I choose the road that curves,that lingers,that lets the silence stretch. And somewhere between one mileand the next, I’m certain of this, I’m not lost. I’m just taking the backroads home.
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Apr 26
Apr 26, 2026 at 7:59 PM UTC
wenniegdxx
backroads
Dad takes the backroads,roads that bend and wander,that don’t rush to arrive anywhere. Twenty-five, the fastest he’ll go,sometimes less,like he’s stretching the distance on purpose,like time might loosen its gripif he drives slow enough. At every turn,his hands steady on the wheel,corners taken with quiet precision while he hums. He carried this with himacross state lines,through places that never stayed long enoughto be called home. I never understood it then.The unnecessary backroads. But now,in the quiet between destinations,I think I do. Maybe it gave him space to breathe—one extra minute to clear his thoughts,where no expectations had to be met,getting lost without a destination. Maybe each miletook a little weight with it,carried it off into neighborhoods and empty roadsno one else would notice. Maybe this is what time looks likewhen you learn how to hold it gently. Because now,without thinking,I miss the turn that would get me home faster. I choose the road that curves,that lingers,that lets the silence stretch. And somewhere between one mileand the next, I’m certain of this, I’m not lost. I’m just taking the backroads home.
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