photo by author

Do you ever just want to escape? Drive off into the sunset across the country? I am doing this, listening to Dreams by Fleetwood Mac. As I drive down the back roads of America, where life is lived out of the noise. As I pass country homes, wooded cabins, run down farms, I wonder what it would be like to live there. Am I capable of it. Am I capable of throwing away the lifestyle I have worked to achieve and yet have no desire to maintain? Am I capable of getting up early to work the farm and not ever care again to check social media? Or will I write about it, take a clever angled photo to post and just unwanted attention to this new found life? Screw it up to the point I am at, and the very reason I am cruising, dreaming?

Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Simple Man is my mother’s favorite song for me. I appear to be a very simple man, but that is just an outwardly cast shell. A defense mechanism used to protect what is in my head. Who I am. What I want. What I desire. What I hate. What I am scared of. As I drive, I now realize I have experienced every single one of those things. Nothing is secret. Nothing shared or trusted with others stays locked up. It is shared, exposed by the very ones you assumed were just like you. Everybody wants and takes. No patience. Real love, real love escapes from your grip.

Driving and dreaming. Escaping to feel something real. Escaping the physical spots where happy moments lived but turned to dust. Escaping thoughts that haunt not only your mind, but your heart, your inner being. Here comes another old home and dairy farm, with rolling hills up to the forest. What about here? Will this place distract me enough from the pain? Will I still be lost, thinking about it all while sitting there milking a cow? Spending all day mowing the lawn? How many hikes will it take in the woods? How empty and lonely will it be at night, away from civilization?

Drive on. Dreaming, but of other peoples’ lives, but now thinking more of mine, left behind. Never escapable are the thoughts, my history, the love, the heartache. The heartache. Ah… there it is, the heartache. As I drive, the anxiety burns in my chest. It all comes flowing back. Who am I kidding miles away from my life? Now realizing I am homesick, but for what? Life as I knew it was devastated. For what? A lie? For sex? To win? What am I heartbroken for? Not knowing any truth of the matter, it stings harder than any earthly cause of pain. The hardest part is not knowing if any of it was ever true. Nothing can heal that pain.

Dreams. I have lost all sense of dreams. I have to keep driving though. The sun is setting.



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