10:00 p.m.*
(I seem to have forgotten how to type. Oh, the backspace key. I never knew how awesome you were until now.)
Sketch: Drive
I am alone in the car. I'm playing the radio as loud as I want to, which is loud enough to make my ears hurt just slightly, and even though I could turn it down enough to make the ache go away, I don't want to. I'm singing along with the song that's making my ears hurt, except I can't sing, so it's really more like yelling. But there's no one to hear me, so I don't care.
There is nothing I love more than moments like these, moments that are entirely mine and mine alone, moments when the road stretches out before me like a promise. A promise of what, I don't know exactly, but maybe it's a promise of as many of these moments of mine that I can fit into the space it takes to burn a tank of gas, or maybe it's a promise of returning to some place long enough ago and far enough away, a place where we are strangers, where you don't know my name, or maybe... maybe --
Like I said, I don't know what the promise is, but I don't need to know. It doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter because yes, I will come home tonight and I will wash the dishes and I will lie in bed next to you and listen to you snore and I won't tell you any of this, about how I disappear for hours, about how I go away just to remember, or to forget, or to chase the horizon like the fool I used to be, like the fool I still am in these moments when I am alone in the car and I can listen to what I want to as loud as I want to and you can't stop me with those words of yours, those looks of yours that stop me from doing everything else.
Because right now, I am far enough away for it to matter, and I don't feel you and I don't love you and I don't have to pretend, and I can just imagine, just barely imagine, the way the sky looks in a world where we're not happening.
*Not bad for something I started at 9:58, if I do say so myself.
Sketch: Drive
I am alone in the car. I'm playing the radio as loud as I want to, which is loud enough to make my ears hurt just slightly, and even though I could turn it down enough to make the ache go away, I don't want to. I'm singing along with the song that's making my ears hurt, except I can't sing, so it's really more like yelling. But there's no one to hear me, so I don't care.
There is nothing I love more than moments like these, moments that are entirely mine and mine alone, moments when the road stretches out before me like a promise. A promise of what, I don't know exactly, but maybe it's a promise of as many of these moments of mine that I can fit into the space it takes to burn a tank of gas, or maybe it's a promise of returning to some place long enough ago and far enough away, a place where we are strangers, where you don't know my name, or maybe... maybe --
Like I said, I don't know what the promise is, but I don't need to know. It doesn't matter.
It doesn't matter because yes, I will come home tonight and I will wash the dishes and I will lie in bed next to you and listen to you snore and I won't tell you any of this, about how I disappear for hours, about how I go away just to remember, or to forget, or to chase the horizon like the fool I used to be, like the fool I still am in these moments when I am alone in the car and I can listen to what I want to as loud as I want to and you can't stop me with those words of yours, those looks of yours that stop me from doing everything else.
Because right now, I am far enough away for it to matter, and I don't feel you and I don't love you and I don't have to pretend, and I can just imagine, just barely imagine, the way the sky looks in a world where we're not happening.
*Not bad for something I started at 9:58, if I do say so myself.
