Out on the road she felt as if nothing could touch her. The
sky, blue ebbing into grey, flowing softly into pastel pink or evening
tangerine, stretched along with each mile, loyal and safely constant. As continuous
as the ocean, both sky and road could offer her a feeling of shelter she had
long forgotten. The one carried her, whether she knew where or not, without
closing doors, providing possibilities every which way; the other was the
reassurance of an existing world, a life ahead at every edge and endpoint. And
so she drove, and drove, and drove until her eyes blurred, until she lost
identity and self-awareness, until she was at last one with the rhythm of
intuition, each curve and hill part of a physical current, free of thought.
Having discovered the void of disillusion, the anguish of heartache, she had fled
in search of a space where promises were kept, a flight on wheels.
-LBCH
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