Behind the wheel, keeping my eyes on the road
somehow lowers shields around my mind.
As I drive the comfort of familiar grey,
you’re able to sneak inside,
creeping on tippy-toes without a sound.
I’m sitting in my hot car with a window down and a cheap excuse for a latte in my hand that coffee snobs would scoff at. I’ve been training with people decades ahead of me, who somehow haven’t given up on me yet despite my failures, and I’m tired in a good way, and I’m still sweating, and I’m disappointed in my weak progress but also kind of glad I haven’t quit yet, I guess. My guts are complaining, and I’ve got shitty music in my ears that most would hate but apparently some others out there, somewhere, actually like too, if the global play counts displayed are to be believed.