Mirage

On a long deserted sandy road I stand absolutely free. I am empty of possessions and passions, I am skin and bone longing for nothing but wind in my hair and sun in my eyes.
He comes to a swift break and signals me in; my friend barely looks at me and just drives ahead. His over-driven yellow old convertible is allowing both of us the grace of speed, wind and dusty moist skin. No words, no stress, and no noise today.
Scratchy acoustics come out muffled and raw curing ears deafened by the world’s toxic sounds. I squint at an overwhelming brightness turning my eyes into hazel water sheds. Wind quickly teases whatever it can touch of my skin and it circles itself around it with locks of rebellious hair. I had never felt so surrounded yet unchained at the same time.
Arms above my head and I feel close to flying off this piece of American machinery, but I cannot fly. I try to lift my mind higher, today I am letting it go and I want to watch it crash onto the ground. Today I am allowing myself the serenity of quiet illusions.
The speed pushes me backwards but my body sits firm loving the competition and the physical endurance it gets to prove.
I would have flown if I didn’t know so much about landing. I would have feathered away if I hadn’t carried my weight around daily. I would have become a mirage if it weren’t for reality. I would have strayed with that car forever, if it ran on wind instead of fuel.

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