(no subject)
There is a humming in my soul as continuous as the drops of sweat off a summer-drenched brow. A feeling of finality, drops separating one by one away from my skin, once coursing my body and now fading to grains of salt somewhere beyond my senses. A feeling of something that has passed on that cannot be reclaimed. Of something never to be made right again.
On clear nights I would drive with Marlene on the switchbacks of Germantown Road, reveling in the roar of the pistons pushing against flame and air, the solid transition between gears and the wind whistling past as those cold blue headlights sought their path round the next corner and down under the hill. Some evenings, as I listen to her whirring a siren's alloy melody, I imagine her steel growing tired.
One day, I will be upon the blacktops with her, looking out upon those valleys of green and grey when she cannot meet the next turn. I image begging for her to stay, for her to continue our serene nights together whipping through the trees and under the heavens. She will cry tears of oil and smoke, her gaskets and seams finally exhaling under the pressures of age and she will no longer carry that fire combusting deep inside. We will be parted, and though I may one day feel those curves and watch the yellow stripes pass by the driver's window once more, it will no longer be her, with whom I first experienced that unbridled passion.
I miss everyone and everything I have lost along that road. I continue the drive, but their memories hang heavy upon the wheels as they clutch that smooth black pavement and fade in amongst those welcoming lights of the town ahead.
On clear nights I would drive with Marlene on the switchbacks of Germantown Road, reveling in the roar of the pistons pushing against flame and air, the solid transition between gears and the wind whistling past as those cold blue headlights sought their path round the next corner and down under the hill. Some evenings, as I listen to her whirring a siren's alloy melody, I imagine her steel growing tired.
One day, I will be upon the blacktops with her, looking out upon those valleys of green and grey when she cannot meet the next turn. I image begging for her to stay, for her to continue our serene nights together whipping through the trees and under the heavens. She will cry tears of oil and smoke, her gaskets and seams finally exhaling under the pressures of age and she will no longer carry that fire combusting deep inside. We will be parted, and though I may one day feel those curves and watch the yellow stripes pass by the driver's window once more, it will no longer be her, with whom I first experienced that unbridled passion.
I miss everyone and everything I have lost along that road. I continue the drive, but their memories hang heavy upon the wheels as they clutch that smooth black pavement and fade in amongst those welcoming lights of the town ahead.