Beautiful Desolation
001.
His knuckles, white from his tight, desperate grip, eyes directed to the front, willing himself not to look behind him. He knows that if he does, he would not leave. His heart is hammering in his chest; so hard it feels as if it’s in his throat—choking him, making it hard to breathe.
Miles later he finally gives in, lets himself look in that mirror, the one that shows him what he’s leaving behind. She let me go, he has to remind himself—she let me go. The long stretch of road, worn and weary, taunting him—desolation never looked so beautiful.
Miles later he finally gives in, lets himself look in that mirror, the one that shows him what he’s leaving behind. She let me go, he has to remind himself—she let me go. The long stretch of road, worn and weary, taunting him—desolation never looked so beautiful.