and stares at the map.
only eight hundred miles to go,
with an energy
drink, and a bag of round
pretzels in her lap.
but she likes to drive.
she likes to see
the trees turn color.
she likes the roadside
scenery, the fields and pastures
clicking by
with each long mile.
how strange it is to give hope
to what we can't see or know.
it's human.
it's sad.
it's desperation.
it's a long drive home when
it doesn't work out.
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