For every mile that I drive down the highway in my mind, a link of the chain is broken and lost- disappearing and dissolving into the purple-black sky. Soon the chain will be completely gone- a distant and fading memory. Freedom will be abrupt reality.
The only real chains are the ones we make ourselves- forged out of shiny hot liquid metal- cooled and hardened and possibly rusted after years that pass without us noticing.
Do you take lightly the passage of time?
Or do you sense the urgency of life?
I repeat these questions aloud as my foot assaults the accelerator- faster and faster down the highway in my mind- crushing and obliterating pearly-white brittle eggshells that I used to tiptoe so carefully over. Tiptoe-ing on eggshells, balancing on a tightrope- trying not to break anything, trying not to fall. But why balance on a tightrope when you can dive freely over the side? And why tiptoe on eggshells when you can crush them- it's liberating and it makes an extraordinary sound- destruction as a form of creation.
