I’ve spent the last umpteen hours and days and months
driving towards that pinprick in the horizon,
that neat little microscopic point where everything comes together.
…
There, that “vanishing point,”
that’s were everything makes sense.
It’s my rainbow and I’m constantly chasing it.
How am I, amateur navigator that I am, to know when I’ve reached the destination?
…
I need a tour-guide, a wing man.
…
I push harder on the accelerator and set new records,
I blow past signs and lights and detours and alerts,
my vision so narrowed and tunneled.
I never bothered to read any of them.
…
And I missed the turnoff.
too busy hurling myself toward some impossible pinprick of a future.
…
You were my poor, lonely dirt road,
poorly marked but ever-so-promising.
You could have been my super secret detour to happily-ever-after.
…
And I blindly blew past.
