Concrete

Hands placed on nine and three

I feel as if I could drive forever…

I listen to the Temper Trap tell me to soldier on

As my eyes wander to flying pieces of objects unknown, and then stop to focus on one as it hangs in the air for a moment before it sways slowly towards the hot concrete

The neatly drawn yellow and white lines of the freeway have been there for so long they begin to fade as I get closer to the city

And I, for once, find it comforting to know that some things endure long enough so as to become familiar.

The concrete is hot

and today is goes on for as long as I want,

past the concrete jungle, through the mountains and bridges and skylights of this city that will never feel like home

So I drive on,

straight through the sound of goodbyes and questions asked about the future,

and busy offices filled with people who could care less about the poetry and beauty of this hot, fading concrete.

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