The Drive

I dreamt we rode in a car at night. You drove. It rained.

The puddles lining the side of the road mirror the glare of the street lamps above. Glowing orbs of pleasant memories rushed past.

I want to turn and face you. I can’t. I don’t.

I taste the tension between us; it’s metallic. There’s something very wrong here. I reach for the wheel, but my hands fall short.

Shreds of red and strokes of orange appear ahead. The sun is rising. The night is falling. Time keeps pushing.

I ask myself, who’s driving?

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