Stop

My grief after a dear friend's passing:
The traffic converges at the same old jams.
The sky isn't darkening?
The brakes don't fail, but I feel as though I am falling into the floor.
Maybe I will fall through onto the road.
I wish it could hurt and scathe, and wound me to a stop.
But I just keep driving homeward.
I wonder why the world doesn't stop to notice that my face is wet and your are gone, and I am astounded at my ability to stay in lane.
I speak to you to say that I am sorry.