. . . . . there i was.  alone.  the truck rides always gave me time to think.  no matter if i was going down the street, or driving to get the hell away from the problem.  but this time was different.  i left, for good.  the windshield wiper’s rubber rubbing and drawing the rain away from the obstructed view of the road ahead, once again, clear view.  depending on what song that was playing on my strategic playlist, i’d flip through my ferris wheel of thoughts, usually.  but today was different.  i didn’t turn on the song for thought.  i was just driving.  zoned out on the road ahead.  numb.  //  the rain slowly comes to an end.  the milky grey sky drifts past and leaves a clear blue horizon.  on the road where i travel, the sun peaks through a crack in the cloud, leaving  sun rays painted upon the canvas sky, depicting what i like to think as a stairway leading to heaven.  i always had a thought of what my life was going to be like.  i guess, more like a dream.  not anything like i was living at this moment.  but i suppose that, that wouldn’t be realistic.  a life with no problems, no anger, never having to live from paycheck to paycheck and never feeling the pain of falling out of love.  what a life. that wasn’t mine.  //  one hundred and twenty miles driven, i start feeling  the weight on my shoulders.  what have i done?   what have i done?, other than make two people disappointed and broken-hearted.   and then i remembered as quickly as i have forgotten, the arguments and the lack of feelings we shared.   the questions in my mind start to repeat themselves,  like a madman in a padded cell.   but i cant let the feeling  of defeat win, or hold me down  in chances to start a new.  each day is mine for the taking. taking command like a captain and his ship. this is me and my day.  selfishness vs. actually putting myself first.  for once.  breaking down my walls.  it is about me.  //   the day gave into night, i stop for the rest.   i pull into the hotel’s parking lot and head in.   i ask for a room and check in.  the smell of the hotel reminds me of past vacations.  i think that every hotel smells this way.  a mixture of cleanliness,  pool chlorine, with a hint of cigarette smoke.  the lady hands me a key and tells me that check out is at eleven and the continental breakfast is served at seven.  sending me on my way.  walking past the pool and down a dim-lit hall, i find room one-forty-three.  walking  in, i tossed the key onto the side table and locked the door behind me.  i looked around and kind of laughed at the site i was welcomed in to.  there in front of me laid awful red carpet and purple velvet curtains and walls wallpapered with painted on strands of ivy.  i checked in, in 2013,  but obviously paid for 1965.   i first get ready for a nice hot shower.  i undress and reach for the towel.  i wash off the days burden and dry off.  i walk out in my towel and turn on the sports channel.  and it was then when i turned around, that, in the earlier argument and driving off, i didn’t grab any clothes.  no hair or tooth-brush, no change of clothes.  i was gonna rough it without roughing it.  so i  change into the same clothes i had on before, and ran to the local store.  grabbing some impromptu dinner and a new casual outfit, brushes for my hair and teeth, deodorant and such, i drive back to my time warped room.  i eat and relax on the bed.  lying there watching the t.v., flipping through the local channels.  i always find it funny to watch out-of-town newscast stations, when ive become accustomed to the ones back home.  dozing off during the late show, i turn off the light on t.v., and roll over to my sleeping position. the silence was deafening at first.  out of habit, i reach my arm over, trying to reach for you.  to hold on to you.  but all that was there was stiff  hotel cotton blankets and sheets. i reposition the pillows .  two pillows for my head and one that i hold in my arms, that acts as you. . . . . . .  c.2013 BGW

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