Last ride home
In the midst of moments,
constantly transitioning from one to the other,
we struggle to grip onto time.
simply living in the present.
Loosing our footing on the ground we call home.
Growing tall, but forgetting the roots that hold you down.
And when your driving down the street that youve driven so many times before.
Nothings ever changed.
Heading home in the breaking hours of the morning,
even in the fade,
you've never seen anything quite so clearly.
And the lights seem to intertwine with everything around you,
burning so bright they've perminately left a scar,
on the left side of your brain-
where memories drift you to sleep.
Hitting the pillow,
realizing you are a small town,
the only home you've ever needed.
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