It was a lonely ride home, stoney, yet short. The raindrops filled the night sky. It was sweet, it was mild, it was what it had to be. I thought of waiting, but gave in. I thought of not thinking for a while. I inhaled, I be.
In retrospect, those short times with myself were my little outings into my myself, my little visits to me. Sometimes being with one-self turns uncomfortable very fast, so one finds escape routes. And somehow, those routes always lead to the same end.
To dark and lonely ride homes. Some are friendlier than others, most purely are. And even though they are needed, and they fullfill a special deed, they turn sour quickly. They turn easily bad. I call you sometimes, sometimes I call others. Most of the times to late to reach and get an answer, most of the times to late. All of the times too lonely.
The days go by and I'm with you and that feels fine. But one always returns to lonely rides. Because they are imminent, because they are real and it is truth. Truth, that we always drive alone.
I like the night when it rains and the drops accompany on my quick journey and embarking towards better grounds. They say the grass is greener on the other side, it isn't always greener, sometimes it just isn't. Sometimes there never is.
I think in solitude, I make up jazzy tunes to accompany my thoughts. My words are written down with rhythm, a brassy saxophone makes them dance. It's night. It's wet and humid. It's dark and slightly lit by the functioning streetlights. I'm in this machine that drives me and I drive towards where I please. I light up, take a toke, breathe in. I'm on a lonely ride home, towards heaven, towards me.
I think of you dearly. I feel guilty you are not here. But lonely rides are for the lonely, and then you musn't be here. See... you are all that makes my solitude unwanted, you are that specific greener grass on the other side. You seem like a life worth living. I suffice, with less lonely rides, as long as you accompany on the big ride. And every other ride, just let me have one or the other nights. Were it rains, it pours, the lights go by and I light up again, in order to go back home and ride.