A million instruments, yet only one song. You. Not playing over the speakers. Not painted in bold, school bus yellow in the middle of the road. Not whistling like the wind that tickles my earlobes.
You are everywhere within me. So when I inhale, I breathe you in. And when I exhale, your memories flood out of me. Our memories. Our melodies.
I can't read my speedometer, I can't see the lights ahead. I can only hear you. A dozen suns settling into my veins then bursting out of them with speeds I could never track.
These are not just driving days. These is our days. But the reality is, I am exposed. You can't shield me. I hit the solid ground with my two dying feet and you are not near. You can't be here. You only make noise when the seasons come and go. When I try to fly to another time. When I drive to be found by no one
But you.
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Freewrite with the random prompt of: driving with the radio on
