Page is over and so am I.

It’s like a high speed police crime chase, except there’s no police, nor cars, and the chase is endless in itself.

Maybe a friend in the passenger seat. It’s 3am, streets are silent, city is asleep, empty. You’re both drunk, high, there’s adrenaline dripping out of your pores, unwiped foreheads dripping in sweat. You laugh, cried, sang, screamed, talked, drank, smoked, got happy, sad, angry — mostly angry, frustrated. Vented, asked, answered, messed your hair over to the wind, messed your head up over the nocturnal, artificial city lights. Caring not for the moon, you got confused, dozed off.

Felt alive, felt dead, scared, uncertain, at war and pushing through. Wanted to see more and to blind yourself, to kiss and to be punched, wanted to fuck whilst pressing against your running, bleeding broken nose and heart. Felt aware and self aware: life understood is life lived, enough already of being dead.

Your favorite song pops back into both memory and the car radio.

Page is over and so am I.