Propelling myself between white and yellow lines, my journey laced with the highs, then inevitable crashes, but never totaled, I still roll onward. I make it to work on-time this morning, the three cigarettes to calm my nerves on the trip-up. Light, suck, blow, ash, flick. I noticed this morning in the bath that the cut inside my mouth on my cheek, caused from chomping on 750 calories worth of chips after dinner last night, has healed almost completely. I’ve always healed fast-- my piercings and scrapes, my sprains and bruises. I don’t get sick, and when I do, my body usually relinquishes the illness in about a day. Perhaps my physical resilience makes up for what I lack mentally, emotionally: the pains of my mind hanging on like an unshakable cold, even when I’ve decided for myself that, “I’m over it.”
So I turn down the road less-traveled, always, because Frost said it makes the difference, but I’m not so sure how this road is different. I feel good (for now,) looking at the world in this new and heightened way, I actually feel, but I’m still just focusing on avoiding that cliff to my right.
The unpopular road I’m on is dark and over-grown, it’s so dangerous, really, but I don’t know how many people have really died here. I’ve heard the stories, people plummeting over the edge, but they weren’t as smart as me, as observant or self-aware, and I’ve got a better control of my vehicle, an assumption based upon the circumstances. The course I travel has a clear destination, a good time and place to rest, I just need to keep my eyes out for the signs and make sure no one notices me here. A girl like me in a place like this is a guaranteed disaster if my presence is realized. Though my speed continues to accelerate, it is still steady and reasonable, and if I keep my eyes on the road, no one will notice that I’ve strayed. I’ll end up where they are on-time despite our contradicting passages. I just need to focus.
What to make of the ones who didn’t make it? They went too far down this road, where the pavement ends and all is lost, all are lost, but I’m not worried; I’ll exit in time to get back on course. If by some chance I miss the exit, or I get too close to the cliff; if I roll into the embankment's brush or it gets so dark I can’t see an obstruction in front of me, you won’t know until it's too late.
I’m turning up the music now, speakers are blowing out. I won’t tell anyone what road I’m on, not even my best friend. “This is something I have to do for myself,” shout-sings Max Bemis competing with my back up vocals. Chain smoking between the lines, the path less clear, the boundaries blurred--I’m getting to work now. Flick. Tomorrow I’ll take this road again, and don’t follow me. I’ll find my way back on my own.
I’m not worried, but maybe if there were ever absolute truth, you’d never be reading this in the first place.
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