The wheels spin out an all-too-familiar rhythm. Winds sing their Sirens’ songs through my hair. The engine rumbles, its primitive growl a warning, an invitation. The faint tug of home reminds me of a childhood friend forever remembered, but long forgotten. The call of the road is the pull of a frantic lover, desperate, lustful.
I see my past in the grain of asphalt. I learn to read futures on signboards by the highway. I decipher stories untold from skid marks on the well-trodden path. Shimmering mirages replace my dreams, countless days merging into endless nights.
Oh, how I wish you were here! I wish you could see the sights I’m too jaded to see. And experience the wonders of waking up in new places everyday, of miracles performed on a cosmic scale, and little joys shared over breakfast coffee at that unknown café on that unexpected turn of the road.
I grow weary of the wind’s seductive whispers, of this demanding mistress my journey has become. I long for the lilt of your laughter again. I yearn for your knowing touch and your comforting love. I want to stop, and walk up those familiar steps, and see you smile as you open the door. But there is no end to this road. There is only turning back, and taking the path not taken, the choices not made, and the lives not lived.
