He's gone now, and as I drive down
this solemn road to work
I wonder how many more miles
before I find a new place,
a new face,
a new me,
to park my car
and call home,
and leave the past behind.

Yellow lines blur past
and a car pulls onto the pavement ahead of me,
this silent intervention,
though met with frustration,
slows the speedometer of my life below 20,
and I'm reminded to glide along
and acknowledge other avenues I pass by.
I remember nights so free
in his car, the top down and music loud.
We flew and never had to stop.
Destination uncertain,
we friends had each other
and all had a seat in the car.

He's got a new car, now.
He drives it somewhere else,
down roads I've never seen,
past signs I'll never read.

The car before me
eases off onto a new path
and leaves me alone
on this stretch of pavement.
I press the gas
and speed past
our point of separation.
What's left of the distance,
I don't know.
People drive
and they drive each other
in their cars-
shiny, new, cranky, and old.
Some waste their gas
and go too fast,
stopping at places they should never be.
Some take the long way home.
And some are like me.
I've got my own car,
but no place to go.
He's gone now,
and as I drive down
this solemn road to work
I wonder how many more miles

before I find a new place,
a new face,
a new me,
to park my car
and call home.