artwork by the silent giants.
Brake lights, in two infinite rows, converge in a line
disguised as the way home.
Ignoring your signs,
I idealized in my mind, it's why
you slipped right through my fingers.
New life poured out of your lungs
a simple idea, but spoken in tongues
that I'll try hard to decode
while passing the time on the infinite drive
back to the place you came to arbitrarily refer to
as the center of the start.
I'll be back in your heart.
Better get used to the concept.
You slipped right through my fingers.
The signs say nothing at all.
And time, I watch it slow to a crawl.
The signs might be a lie
but for you, well...
I'll drive and drive and drive and drive and drive