Its a strange feeling knowing someone is already mentally gone when they’re still physically present.
to reach inside. hold it in your fist.
whisper to it with love, with belief,
with everything you can imagine.
stroke it until it purrs like a well-oiled
engine, maintained at every 3,000 miles
and washed every week. check it for dents
and scratches and mistaken love notes keyed
into its surface. make sure you know exactly
how it sounds at 3,500 RPMs, so that you know
when to shift. know every pull, every dial,
fine tune it until there is no more static
coming from your speakers. listen closely
to the music, listen even closer to the voices.
let the wind blow back your hair and feel
the world pass you as if you stand still.
always wonder what lays around the bend,
let it take your breath away. pull over when
it does, when you can’t breathe for the beauty
or the tragedy or the sheer enormity of it all.
when you stop, tell it your secrets, your fears,
your hopes and your dreams. scream your
excitement and your frustration. cry, unabashedly,
with no apologies for your make up or your hair.
change shirts when no one’s looking— even better,
steam up the windows. the brakes are on the left,
but that doesn’t mean you have to leave; just let
it idle if you have to, rev the gas when you just
need to know that
it’s still on."