Dolor: Poetry of the unspoken

On My Way Home

I was driving peacefully on the highway, on my way home.
The road was calm, like dusting an empty table.
My house was three miles away, just half a mile to go,
But vehicles flooded the intersection,
And I was cornered by a red light.

I noticed my gas was almost empty,
Doubting it could last another half mile.
I gritted my teeth with an annoyed smile,
"Right, just when I was only half a mile away."

But heaven was on my side that day;
I found a gas station not far away.
I got out of the car to fill my tank,
An old man was there, refilling his as well.

He greeted me and asked, "Where are you off to?"
"Home, just half a mile from here," I replied.
"I should've arrived by now if I hadn't run out of gas. How about you?"
He smiled, "Home too, about five miles drive from where I came,
Good thing I was only a mile away when I ran out of gas."

We went our separate ways, and as I drove,
I thought about his words, his calm resolve.
I got annoyed at running out of gas,
After driving two and a half miles out of three.

He, just a mile from his five-mile destination,
Was optimistic and unfazed.
He never got upset about being only a mile away,
Instead, he was glad for the four miles completed.

It made me realize how I viewed the present wrong.
Instead of being grateful for the journey,
I focused on the unfinished goal.
Now I see the value in the miles I've gone,
Not just the distance left to cover.