by Rena Kermasha My bare foot on the pedal. To be closer to my own doing. My hands off the wheel. To give in to unluck. I close my eyes. And remember your words. "I can only want you if you're strong". But needing you is not a problem. It is not a weakness. But a blessing. A blessing I appreciate. Every time it crushes me. Every time it belittles me. Every time it seeks to deliver me. I get random thoughts when I'm driving. Of crashing into the concrete walls. Of driving off the edge of bridges. Of being swallowed by trucks. I see my body. Torn by the fragments of my car. Caught in the slices. Of Metal and glass. One eye remains open. As if even my soul. Would remain and rot in my body. To ensure the reality. Of yet another ending. Pushing forward. And pulling you in. Somehow the directions contradict. Swerving towards each other. Yet never crossing paths. Our love is a dirt road. Unpaved. Unaccomplished. Quaint but useless. And the direction of my intention. Is the crash that colours the road. That will be cleaned up. And forgotten. Shards of glass swept to the side. Metal recycled for new cars. And new travellers never knowing. I was there.