The words,
"Live like you're dying"
spill out of the speakers
and drown in my ear canals.

Outside these tinted car windows
white sails whistle on top of the blue ocean.
This car curves over the Bay Bridge,
I'm leaving again.

I don't know if this is the 10th, 21st,
or 33rd time I've left,
but it always feels the same.
I command cautious tears to stay back,
for it will be three hours time
before I will be alone enough
to let them flow.

I try to remember
what I'm supposed to be doing,
what I want to do with all this,
how I can carve something beautiful
out of this jagged piece of wood
without getting any splinters...

The lyrics of the songs
fill my ears to the brim,
sinking farther and farther,
into my soul.
Truly inspiring, I try my best to use them,
to take them and mold them,
fit them into the crevices of my own life.

This car passes trees, pavement,
rundown apartment buildings,
trails of identical houses,
never escaping the sky.

With every song that ends,
with every foot of asphalt
this car races over,
I am farther...and farther from him.
Why it has to be this way,
I've tried to understand with no success.

Someday.
"Someday lots of things."
If I had the means, and the guts to
'live like I was dying,'
I wouldn't be in this car,
curving over the Bay Bridge.
I wouldn't be leaving again.


Someday.
All in good time.