Maybe...

you know this feeling. The one that begins in your car. Maybe you've got a tank full of fuel and the wild haired idea to drive. To keep going

and going

and going

until you come

to the end of everything. Your hair in tangles. Matted by the day into night with all the windows open. Maybe you've smoked too many cigarettes. Maybe there's an eclipse . Or a thunderstorm that makes the edges bleed into the rear view. Maybe all the colors blur

and run

and dry

to a crisp

on the cusp of uncertainty. Maybe you run out of gas. Leave the car on the side of the road. Door flung ajar with his songs on the radio and not

in your head.

Maybe you ford the creek

- stilettos be damned -

and walk head-long into the dense wood. Down into the valley. Or maybe you perch on a rock on the side of the road

- short skirt be damned -

Shoes in your hand and nothing in your mind. Then maybe

you're certain

you don't feel this. No.

Not any more.