Sometimes, when I drive home late at night I forget where I'm going. I close my eyes and let the road drive me forward. I let myself become overtaken by unconsciousness.
I looked at the road behind me, dark and empty. The same for the road in front, empty without lights. I drop my hands from the wheel. The car pulls forward within intense speed as I press the gas pedal down harder. Let the road take me where it needs. I'm tired of frustrated nights with long-winded arguments. I will follow wherever I go. Maybe I'll drive off a strange turn and end up in a town I've never visited, never thought of visiting. Maybe I'll move in there. Get a new place with a new person who will accept everything I've wanted to be.
Or maybe, just maybe, maybe I'll let the car crash within my hands because I've grown so tired of the fighting. Perhaps I want the silence of death to take me with him. It would stop all the fighting. Crashing my small body into this field would stop him from screaming at me when he gets so angry he can't breathe. Yes, it's possible that letting myself crash would do all of these things.
But, most likely I'll grab the wheel at the last second like always. I'll go back to his arms at the latest point of the night. I'll forget about him screaming at me until 2am last night, because tonight is a new night. If I force my hands to reach out at the last second, before the car hits the ditch, then that means I forgive him for loving someone that was never me. No, he never loved me. I'm surprised if he even knows me. Forgetting my name and summing me up simply into the word "babygirl"
The car lurches closer to a ditch and my breath hikes. I'd like to say my whole life flashed before my eyes, but after doing this a few times a week, it's lost the thrill. Half of me hopes I finally let myself crash. Let the grass take me. Back to earth. The other half claims there is something waiting for me. Take the turn. Don't crash.
I've never been good at deciding quickly.
