Sing in the Car
I don't want to come down.
I can close my eyes and still see the lights.
I can still laugh, and
I can still remember remembering
the times we'd sing in the car.
I can sing with a crowd of over 300 people, in
three
part
harmony
and still feel alone, with or without you.
But that's okay, because I am alone,
even when I'm not.
And inside my own head is an amazing place that's V.I.P me.
Me.
Everything I could or couldn't be.
To you
To anyone.
And if that's all I'll ever be, then that's all I was in the beginning.
I can be happy.
I am capable of a smile that isn't forced,
that isn't faked,
that isn't half-baked.
I'm capable of air and water and earth.
And I'm capable of fire. Yes, Fire.
I can lick chapped lips
and I can think through misery to some
shining
whetted pillow of expectations.
I've never felt like this specifically before.
This specific mixture of chemicals
running through my brain and veins in the
exact
measurments.
I've never felt this before.
I can close my eyes and still see the lights.
I can still laugh, and
I can still remember remembering
the times we'd sing in the car.
That is how I feel
right now.