Seventy miles an hour towards I don’t know. Clinching the steering wheel as the rain flings off the windshield wipers. My face begins to sink in a doleful manner, while the rain droplets careen into my cheeks and slide down like tears. Stoically, yet, so emotionally the music playing: digs through memories of her and shovels them to the forefront of my mind. It’s all too familiar, though those moments have passed; they live on the windshield’s surface and flicker like an old film. The lucidity of this day dream calls for my over analytical brain to dissect every nuance of her face. While I speed past a few yellow lights, and run a few reds; I slide my hand on the wheel pretending its threads…of her hair. Flushed cheeks: I’m stuck in this wistful mood; never to care where my life’s destination may end. I dare not to say her name. For it may only confirm I’m hiding from an inescapable pain. A palpable sadness is forever protecting itself from me. It doesn’t want recognition, it doesn’t want attention, but it wants affection. However, it can all be too late to receive. I’m letting go of the wheel. Will my reason to give up be to cliché? Dying, because a girl let me go? I don’t think so. I think-