White Lines

He kept his eyes focused, but his mind was elsewhere, the music in his ears, the smell of tobacco in the air, the moment was pure and perfect, he could feel it, almost enjoy it, but he felt as though it could not get past his skin, as if nothing could get past his skin anymore. White lines on the road, just a blur through the windshield, white lines and where they would lead.

He wasn't thinking about anything really, actually he hadn't been thinking much these days, not that he was not able to, more that he didn't want to. Thinking was realising, and he didn't want to realise. He wasn't pretending either, he was just letting it go. Some people have it easy. Others just get stuck on one story, stuck on one event, one person that they never forget, whatever happens, the love they felt or the loss they suffered, the hole that's left or the pain that's brought on, it settles on them and becomes a fixture, it never goes away. Sorrow becomes what keeps them together, once they've been broken, they'll hold on to whatever keeps them in one piece, even if it happens to be pain, or mere survival. He wanted to be the kind of person to enjoy life because he was still alive, and refused to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe he wasn't strong enough these days. And so he was merely following the white lines, the white lines and where they would lead.

He wasn't the kind of person to think that he was never going to get through it, he just didn't even let himself wonder about it, he never let himself wonder about things that really could hurt or bother him, he just went through life, day by day, night by night, one step at a time, one foot in front of the other. Every bump in the road he tried to dodge, every crack on the way he tried to jump across, fearing that if he ever were to stumble he would just fall and not be able stand up again. Life had not been kind to him but he still wanted to make the most of it, to take as much from it as it had taken from him, an eye for an eye, a life for a life. And the white lines, the white lines and were the would lead.

The music was loud, taking over him, he was giving in to it, because giving in to music was all he had left, but maybe not all he could get. When you've lost so much, felt so much, hurt so much, is there still anything else to hope for? Was there still anything left for him to feel? for him to enjoy? All those thoughts come and go in his mind, they don't really stay, don't stay anchored, they fade away just as do those white lines on the road, and the road itself, getting engulfed under his car, and then they belong to the past, and though you can still see them in the rearview mirror, and see the path they created for you to follow, what matters are the ones in front of you, these white lines, and where they will lead. And that night those white lines led him to her, and he fell apart in her arms, giving in to her and their whites lines, white lines and where they would lead.