On a road somewhere the sky is falling. It’s cold and dark. The winter chill outside taps on the window begging for shelter from the storm but it’s all just for show. A dusty thought, tucked away in the back of a cabinet somewhere. It clears off the cobwebs and dares me to open the door. Dares me to close it. Dares me to do nothing.
A dream sits to my right, radiating the entire essence of beauty defined. Focused to a point from the vast cosmic ether, projected as a mortal, but I know better. Cast under spell, I hear whispered words ringing in my ear like notes of a song I’ve heard a thousand times, but never quite like this. We are driving somewhere, anywhere, somehow it doesn’t matter. I am here, we are together, and everything else is just perfect silence.
This road knows me well, but I alone, and seems threatened by my passenger. It was lonely then and sometimes I’d let the cold in just for the company. Perhaps it still is, just in a different way now; a better way. A feeling that by it’s very existence, tells you you’re headed in the right direction. You’re on the right path.
A direction leading to nowhere at all and the only way to know you’ve arrived is by having been to all the places it isn’t. All the nights of white knuckles were meant to be and now pay homage to the mind they helped stitch back together. Piece by piece and thread by thread. I guess freedom is the price you pay for selling yourself.
I never did find what I was looking for, but instead something far better. Something that holds no comparison to any and all I could ever have imagined. There is only us; a light on a lonely road. The winter chill outside, still tapping, only serves as a reminder now; adding value to the heat. The vale is lifted and I finally see, that all the roads I’ve traveled, all paths I’ve walked, existed only for us to meet.