Back in the Real World
There's a bottle of whiskey with his name on it somewhere at the foot of this hill.
His lover is somewhere else, removed from the scene of his favorite wreck, over in another country with his own set of rules and requests.
He knows, now, if he keeps driving he'll reach the whiskey and the warmth of an able fire, so he keeps going and going.
The feelings within him burn on like an unnamed fire, trying to get the better of his soul, the better of his existence. But he would not flame out, would not allow the pain to overcome what he had made within himself, the better of the promise he had discovered there.
He would drive on, in search of the jewels sparkling beneath his skin, the unstated promises, the prayer of the living.
He headed to his promise, the belief, the desire; tilting somewhere between fulfillment and disaster.
He would drive on until morning, when the promise would be real.