Margaritas on a rainy night.
I keep driving,
Hoping to reach somewhere.
Somewhere the roads get narrower,
Somewhere the waves clatter by the rocks,
And crashing sounds fill the empty space,
Within me.
There is a hope,
That puts me to sleep every night,
And I dream of this place,
Where only our silence has a deafening peace,
Where your touch is the only warmth in the cool breeze.
I keep searching,
In empty drawers and overfilled notebooks,
The long days and calm nights,
I keep on going,
Passing homes and trees,
And a false sense of completeness.
Sometimes I stop,
There’s this place I keep coming back to,
It’s the only place that feels closest to home,
And they have margaritas every night.
I thought I could keep coming back,
To find this place in some deep grove or an endless meadow,
But sometimes I feel it’s not the place I yearn for.
I only wish to drive,
Through this endless hope,
To find the narrow road,
Where we feel complete under the endless sky.
-Luke
