Roadtrip

The car hums like a loyal confidant,  

windows rolled down to let landscapes breathe.  

Clouds stretch across open skies, unfolding stories.  

The road, a ribbon unraveling toward somewhere—  

or nowhere. Doesn't matter, really, does it?  

Out here, silence isn’t empty, but fluent.  

Each mile marker whispers a little louder;  

you belong to yourself before anything else.  

The mountains don’t keep score,  

the rivers never interrupt,  

and the wind doesn’t ask questions.  

You are the only one mapping this truth.  

I lose the person I’m expected to be,  

find the one who’s been waiting,  

tugging at my sleeve, saying softly:  

don’t forget me in the noise.  

Every turn of the wheel is a decision,  

every stretch of horizon pulls me inward.  

I touch the pulse of my own life,  

stay in sync with the beating heart of it.