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The Highway

Longer stretches of colourless monotony
from windshield to rear-view mirror’s find
white division specks creeping alongside my Honda
next to an overperforming, yet absent mind

I dread counting minutes to my destination
ninety-eight spaces to occupy
before I stretch my legs, and am succinctly reminded
of the childhood I’ve long ago left behind

Stretches of road between two places, two houses
Two people I’ve lived as, a pseudo self-clone:
The me I was born into, that my family remembers
And the me I have crafted, this difference I know.

The highway bleeds heartache, homesickness, these memories
The highway screams lost words I’ve chosen not to groan
In car and my heart I will graciously nod to
the terrain I’ve encountered,

I am on my way home.
Written by ursa
Published
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