I can't count the times I've crossed the Continental Divide. The Rocky Mountains, the Lincoln Highway, the New Mexico desert . . . The expanse of the Canyons of the Ancients is as large as my lonesomeness. Driving, but there are no destinations. There are only places to pass through on my way to somewhere that no longer exists. My only destination is the road.
I count the towns as they go by. I give way to the rise and fall of the asphalt. My mind wanders while my foot presses the gas, hands on the wheel, rain on the windshield, tears in my eyes. I miss a sense of belonging. No matter how far I go I can never find my way home again. I have no home to return to. My only home is the road which I'm damned to wander.
We are all on a road. Each on a journey seeking temporary comforts, momentary peace, slivers of serenity, connection, belonging. You are rushing through your day. I am driving on a road.
