quarantine

I keep thinking about the drive home and I can't stop. I also can't stop calling it home even though I haven't lived there in seven years and it means nothing to me that it did before.

I keep thinking about the drive to and from and how it stretches out, infinity. And how the end holds such happiness and excitement and pure - such pure - joy. About how home is neither here nor there, but a place I can no longer return to. I feel like I am constantly in the car but never on the right road.

The drive is a thing all it's own, though. You know what I mean. The drive itself is something special. The way I remember it. Seeing that one gas station on the corner once we made it into town after a storm I thought would kill us. I called my mom because I thought I was going to die and we just kept driving and soon we got into town and it was sunny but there were puddles and hail piles and a dazed look about the place. That one strip of road in Texas that lasts forever, even going 135.