The driver

I’ve been driving for so long,

I forgot roads weren’t meant to feel this loud.

There’s someone in the passenger seat,

always pointing toward the cliff,

always whispering,

“Just let go.”

Some days they’re quiet.

Most days, they aren’t.

So I grip the wheel a little tighter,

convincing myself

that surviving

is the same thing as living.

The miles blur together.

The scenery changes.

But the noise never does.

People wave as they pass,

calling,

“Enjoy the ride.”

If only they knew

how exhausting it is

to drive with someone

who never stops insisting

you’re going the wrong way.

For the longest time,

I thought the voice was mine.

Until one day,

I realized…

it was only a passenger.

Still loud.

Still there.

But never the hands

holding the wheel.

Maybe one day

it’ll move to the back seat.

Maybe one day

it’ll be so far behind me

that I’ll have to strain

just to hear it.

And maybe…

for the first time,

I’ll stop driving

just to avoid the crash,

and finally start driving

because I want to see

where the road goes.