Miles of City

In the back seat, the world rushes by,

a blur of lights and laughter like

a book half-read, chapters crumpled,

I sink deeper into worn leather,

the scent of fries drifting in,

steady hum of tires on asphalt,

The driver’s laughter slices through

the hum of my thoughts,

a joke about rain—

I smile, but it’s fleeting,

every mile pulling me from a place

that’s both home and a stranger.

I watch the city breathe, a living story,

like a film reel, cut at the edges—

each street a narrative threaded with dreams,

curved around the corners,

as the meter ticks down

to memories left unmade.