The blue light from the dash says it’s 2 am
otherwise it is dark outside of time.
Off the road, lost in nothing
the sounds are relegated to engine tumbles
and words that should have been spoken years ago.
To silence them only raises questions
louder than the answers they beckon.

In a place called home but a few hours past
three beds are filled with dreamers
who will wake to half the house their eyes set upon
while I will be awake still
dreaming of the opportunity to tell a story
where I am not a villain.

I whisper words to them they may never hear,
but deep inside they’ll still know;
though my voice is far away
I am always close.