The blurry leaves won't stop haunting me.

and you were leaves;




I drive down gray highways trying my best to look straight ahead. It's so hard to only have a one-way mind set when all I can see are neon yellow construction ahead warning signs and tedious white dashed lines that say I may pass. It seems ridiculous for these repetitive, overused, exaggerated lines to permit passing because I know what it is like to try to surpass obstacles in life and move ahead and beyond other people. I know what it's like to speed up and slow down accordingly; and I can never be fast enough to outrun the intimidating monster truck images that follow in my rear view mirror, and I can never go slow enough to prevent the next lines from coming.

and you quietly rustle with the waning winds
from cars zooming past; so still

you think you can catch up to me. you follow me for hundreds of miles along this never ending journey &

you become a detached leaf that floats
and twirls in the air in slow motion;

yet you hit the windshield of my car with a haunting thud, even though the normal sound a falling leaf would make is a crisp silence. Maybe you thought that I would slow down for you or catch you or look in the rear view mirror and realize one day I will need to look back, that I can't drive forward forever. But I turn my windshield wipers defense mechanism on high speed and you fall to the side of the road, a lonely, detached leaf, attached to someone who won't hold you for more than a split second for fear of crushing you in my clenched fists.

I'm not sure how leaves can pick themselves up again, unless another wind elevates your hopes, but I don't have the time or patience to dwell on that; I'm on a one way street going 19 over the speed limit and I can't promise I'll stop anytime soon.





It's just easier to keep driving and ignore the chasing branches of trees on the sides of the road; please don't follow me anymore.