Some believe that redemption can
Only be achieved after everything else
Has been lost.
But, when you’re driving alone
On a dark country road at three A.M.,
Headlights glaring in front of you like
Siren’s eyes
as they accentuate the trees, the lampposts,
the road signs, and the pavement is pulling
you, beckoning you, begging you to
drive just a little bit faster and rub it just a little
bit hotter—
because it too knows the way a pulse can race,
exciting the mind when the pain of lost control
becomes the joy of unknown freedom—and any
obstacle, any bump, any ditch, any deer seems
like a targeting magnet that wants to hold you,
to calm you,
to embrace you in flames as it heals you:
when you’re driving on that type of road,
you can only help but wonder if a savior
comes from the point of impact, the
moment when everything explodes and falls to nothing,
or from the ability to own up to what you’ve done and
build a home beneath the ashes.