Is this the road to failure? Isn’t the light fading?
Nothing is clear. I want to flee the hurt, yet first I want apology, atonement, understanding. But there is silence. Have I failed?
Keep driving. Don’t slow down when tormenters whisper from alleyways. Find the lane lined with friends to help.
The sun sets, but I’ll drive on.
Day will follow night.
And the drag of the hurt will stretch and thin, from cable to rope to thread to hair to … snap… nothing.
I’ll drive on: curving with the road, healing from the jolts, bending with the camber.
Travelling home.
Words and photograph copyright 2017 by Paula Harmon. All rights belong to the author and material may not be copied without the author’s express permission
I remember times like these. If we can keep in mind that when one door closes…
This reminds me of Mary Oliver’s poem about leaving home to save oneself. Except in your story, the writer is leaving a bad situation to return home. Your use of language is exquisite. Lovely!
Thank you!