I'm driving through endless terrain, again. My socks against the dashboard, and every so often they slip; weird plastic against fabric. Little robots illuminated occasionally by the passing headlights in the forest, deafened by the blaring of horns in long streams of endless stationary vehicles.
My ipod is verging too close to the red battery and I'm flicking through song after song, but each registers as the bassline mirrors my heart and the lyrics swim in my mind.
Sometimes I am asleep. Every time my eyes open my mind blurs and my pupils are unfocused and there's a steady stream of messages waiting on my phone (none with your name, of course). The radio is a mix of voices and laughter behind my headphones and I watch idly as my mum motions one hand in fitting with the conversation, and drives with the other.
Sometimes we drive through the night. I've always loved pressing my head to the door and watching headlights blur as they pass, at many miles an hour, again and again. What's your story? Where are you going? Perhaps you're returning to wherever I came from. Maybe we're swapping places, in the grand scheme of things. Little tin homes, shifting and moving and going, forever and ever into the night.
I love driving.
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