Don't Keep Driving
Her delicate hands grip the steering wheel, as she moves across the city in her black car. The streetlights illuminate the road home, a path leading her away from him.
He trembles as he is holding his phone, a bomb in his hands. But the explosion has already happened. It's in the air now. And he can't help but stare at the wreckage. A luscious garden of memories reduced to a battlefield of excuses and unfulfilled promises. He's standing there, holding his breath. Waiting for her to come back and take it away again. One last time, he wonders. But the last time had already passed, he just didn't know it then.
Now she's on her way home, hands gripping the steering wheel with a soft ballad playing on the speakers of her radio, reminding her of the love she has left behind. But her foot stays on the pedal, and her car presses onwards. Maybe he deserved better, she thinks. No, he did deserve better. But again, acceleration wins the night, and she loses herself in the road ahead of her, determined to get to point B.
He finds the confidence to stand. His legs are stilts, and he's walking on a tight rope, teetering on the edge of misery. A cup of bitter coffee is set on the desk, he takes a sip. The taste makes him retract. For a moment, he forgets. But from then on, he can't help but wonder, question why she left. Minutes, hours, days, weeks, months pass and he's still wondering.
But so is she.
As if her mind is still replaying that night, remembering the Autumn coldness of the car handle, the elegant singer's voice urging her to return, the blinding luminance of the streetlights overhead. Before she knew it, she was home. She brushed her teeth, said her prayers, and went to sleep. She didn't turn back.
Now both of them travel in their own direction, away from each other but forwards nonetheless.
A piece of them still lives in that night, a fragment that holds onto a dream, a hope that one day their roads will coincide, and lead them back to one another, one last time.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=13gUFmiAb8o
AMDG
He trembles as he is holding his phone, a bomb in his hands. But the explosion has already happened. It's in the air now. And he can't help but stare at the wreckage. A luscious garden of memories reduced to a battlefield of excuses and unfulfilled promises. He's standing there, holding his breath. Waiting for her to come back and take it away again. One last time, he wonders. But the last time had already passed, he just didn't know it then.
Now she's on her way home, hands gripping the steering wheel with a soft ballad playing on the speakers of her radio, reminding her of the love she has left behind. But her foot stays on the pedal, and her car presses onwards. Maybe he deserved better, she thinks. No, he did deserve better. But again, acceleration wins the night, and she loses herself in the road ahead of her, determined to get to point B.He finds the confidence to stand. His legs are stilts, and he's walking on a tight rope, teetering on the edge of misery. A cup of bitter coffee is set on the desk, he takes a sip. The taste makes him retract. For a moment, he forgets. But from then on, he can't help but wonder, question why she left. Minutes, hours, days, weeks, months pass and he's still wondering.
But so is she.
As if her mind is still replaying that night, remembering the Autumn coldness of the car handle, the elegant singer's voice urging her to return, the blinding luminance of the streetlights overhead. Before she knew it, she was home. She brushed her teeth, said her prayers, and went to sleep. She didn't turn back.
Now both of them travel in their own direction, away from each other but forwards nonetheless.
A piece of them still lives in that night, a fragment that holds onto a dream, a hope that one day their roads will coincide, and lead them back to one another, one last time.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=13gUFmiAb8o
AMDG
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