February 7th, 2021
I can't tell if I want the drive to be longer, or if I want to crash my car into the telephone pole. Either way, the destination is what makes my hands grip the steering wheel tighter; it's what makes me realize I am driving the car and I can do whatever I want. The destination makes me size up the ditches so very close to the road. The destination makes me wish it was raining harder so I could say I'm uncomfortable driving in this weather. The destination makes me want to close my eyes at an intersection and pray for something bad to happen to me. The destination is close to me. It's down the street. It's in his neighborhood. It's on that familiar street. It's easy to get to. It's your house. It's your home. But it's a destination that does not feel safe yet. So for now, I will drive slowly. I will take my time until the day comes when I speed for you. I will take my time until I feel the overwhelming need to be at your side at the expense of safe driving.
R.K.
YOU ARE READING
Holeheart
PoesíaI am the forgiver. I am the destroyer. I'm not at fault, but I deserve to be. Poetry and Prose Volume V 2021 DISCONTINUED
