melancholia.

driving with the window 
rolled down
in january. 
eyes scan the road,
check the mirrors.
counting the space between
this car and
the next-
one mississippi
two mississippi.
trying to stay focused,
the mind wanders.
fingers tap the car door,
the rhythm of an
old song. 
it ends as 
the car stops,
perfect. 
staring straight 
ahead, pull the keys
from the ignition and 
listen as it cools down- 
ticking, rattling.
studying the keys in hand,
the thought,
“how did i get here?”