Sometimes, prose fails us. It's not raw enough...not true enough. There's nothing pretty about heartbreak. There's nothing beautiful about feeling tossed by the wayside. Maybe it's just that I am not talented enough to find a passionate way of describing feeling run over by a semi, to find that you're still alive, and that no doctor exists who can mend your wounds. Roadkill. That sounds like the word that describes this feeling, except really I feel more like this animal I hit one day years ago. I don't think I killed it. I think it either slowly died or forever stumbled around with a limp and half of its brain function from the impact of my car. I feel like I've gone through a head-on collision with a drunk driver, one who purposefully got behind the wheel with no consideration whatsoever for any one else on the road...only to have that driver jump out unscathed and shout profanities at me because the wreck was somehow my fault.
I write to no one tonight. There will be no one who could stop the collision...not even myself. It has happened. It has happened so many times, that I'm inclined to choose two courses: 1-never get on the road again or 2-become a better driver. This concussion is too severe to make any decision tonight.
