The trees are illuminated by the
headlights of passing cars,
and we sit there,
in them,
not thinking about those
in their windows watching you
go by, or those sound asleep,
never knowing you were ever there.
It sometimes makes us feel as if
we are the only ones here,
bound in a moving car,
passing paper houses and
empty streets,
where those awake are dreaming,
and those dreaming are not awake.
And that can be comforting to some,
feeling as if no one knows we are
here, and that, just for a moment,
we are seemingly invisible, and
unknown to the world.
Yet it can be terrifying to others
for the exact same reasons.
But then the glow of another's lights
come blinding into one's view,
and proves us all wrong anyway.
YOU ARE READING
Froot Loops @ Midnight
PoesíaI don't know why I care about your thoughts so much. Who the hell cares why you're up at three in the morning?
