Maybe I'll cry, but not today. Maybe I'll beg for more time, but not today. Maybe I'll walk away, but not today. Maybe I'll ask why I'm trying, but not today. Maybe I'll crack for good, but not today.
These are possibilities from the past. They're future shadows. Things that may come again.
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I spent so much of my life in the back seat of that car. The wind roared around it on the highway. Carrying me forward under someone else's hand. My world had nothing to do with that speed or that direction. It was a dream inside the dreamer's head as the dreamer moved through time. Time was the air, or maybe the engine; one part or another of the oppositional duet of those two forces.
My friend Louisa used to spend a lot of time in transit too. For different reasons. But both of us lacked a significant degree of control over our own placement and hence our own lives.
We weren't actually friends during those years--we couldn't have been. Even if we'd lived in the same town, we would have had too many cars to ride in.
But they were happy times, you know. I drew, I read, I made up worlds. Never asking where my own was going.
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It took me a long time to understand what I missed. Out there, and in myself.
Maybe it's for the best.
I could cry. But not today.
