‹ Prequel: In the Month of May
One-Hundred Days
Day Eighteen: Drive
I would rather be a memory along the way than a permanent fixture. I would rather be a face you pass as you are driving along, desperate to get away from the town that is so bad to you. Your eyes are brimming with tears of anxiety while the town is flooding with hatred and disgust. It's much too simple to just run away, honestly, I was expecting more from the likes of you.
But isn't that exactly what you are running away from? Expectations, worries, responsibilities, those glaring eyes that want so much from you that you can no longer give. When you were younger, it was different. You were naive, filled with ignorance of your own soul, and that made you easy to manipulate.
Then you grew up and learned.
That's the one thing you can't do, learn.
So now, you're driving away because you want to learn more, and those brick buildings are just blocking your way of doing such a thing. It seems perfect, doesn't it? You're driving away, with the radio as loud as it can possibly go and cigarette smoke filling the closed empty space of the car. You watch the smoke dance along the outer boundaries of the windows, and you watch the way your lover's fingers dance along with them on your own hands. You're watching everything but the road.
But it's perfect.
You can drive all you want, dear, until the gas runs out and the metal of the car collapses in on itself from exhaustion. You can drive until you have encircled the entire world and have returned to the town you loathe so much. You can drive until your lover abandons you for a bigger city and beautiful people. You can drive until everything you've ever planned implodes on itself.
But you don't realize this, you just want to drive away from anything and everything, and as long as your distant lover is by your side, there is nothing you cannot do.
I wish I had your optimism. It's perfect in an imperfect way, flawed so much they aren't even noticeable and are seen as perfection. Your optimism is your greatest weapon besides your knowledge.
So drive, just drive until the world implodes and you realize what mistake you have committed.
But isn't that exactly what you are running away from? Expectations, worries, responsibilities, those glaring eyes that want so much from you that you can no longer give. When you were younger, it was different. You were naive, filled with ignorance of your own soul, and that made you easy to manipulate.
Then you grew up and learned.
That's the one thing you can't do, learn.
So now, you're driving away because you want to learn more, and those brick buildings are just blocking your way of doing such a thing. It seems perfect, doesn't it? You're driving away, with the radio as loud as it can possibly go and cigarette smoke filling the closed empty space of the car. You watch the smoke dance along the outer boundaries of the windows, and you watch the way your lover's fingers dance along with them on your own hands. You're watching everything but the road.
But it's perfect.
You can drive all you want, dear, until the gas runs out and the metal of the car collapses in on itself from exhaustion. You can drive until you have encircled the entire world and have returned to the town you loathe so much. You can drive until your lover abandons you for a bigger city and beautiful people. You can drive until everything you've ever planned implodes on itself.
But you don't realize this, you just want to drive away from anything and everything, and as long as your distant lover is by your side, there is nothing you cannot do.
I wish I had your optimism. It's perfect in an imperfect way, flawed so much they aren't even noticeable and are seen as perfection. Your optimism is your greatest weapon besides your knowledge.
So drive, just drive until the world implodes and you realize what mistake you have committed.