The Illusion

Are our hard choices ever really made?

You have been my distant someone.
The world that I perceived as right
has been on your end of
the winding two lane highway
that I have traveled often
at my own expense.

I thrilled at each passing landmark,
counted every "in-between" town
with my expectations.
Each one a step closer
to what had felt like me,
one step further
from where I run.

Yet for all the times
I raced recklessly
through night's dark
tunneled trees,
rushed past leisure drivers
and the beauty of a day,
I have not learned the pattern
of the curves between us.

I need to heed my sense of
self-protection wanderlust-
Take an avenue that is not
dangerous in all conditions,
except the perfect conditions.

To find myself
a different destination,
I collect my world
and shove it in the trunk.
(It seems much smaller
than when I first unpacked).
I pick a route leading away,
straight and freshly paved.

I fix my eyes on the horizon,
where I notice that
the road's strong path wavers in the heat,
my unusual resolve, faltering through tears.