We are riding down the backshore,
where I am watching the waves crash against the rocks from the backseat car window.
The windows opened, with the cold breeze blowing.
I miss my mom's hair flying back into my face from her driver's seat.
Why can't she have that anymore?
She's driving again after all this sickness, she's driving with her voice, and weak hands, she's driving: the car, and my life's dictation all over again.
YOU ARE READING
mind-numbingly sleepless nights
PoesíaA collection of poems that I tend to write in the early hours of the morning when I can't sleep at night. Anything from love, to self love, confliction in relationships with my family, friends and myself. Random thoughts drizzled in between the line...
