Rain falls on the empty highway,
like it missed every car.
Streetlights hum to themselves,
with no one listening.
The road shines,
but for nothing.
Wind drags a paper cup
across three quiet lanes.
It sounds like someone walking,
then stopping.
I wait under the bridge,
for a reason to move.
Drops hit my jacket,
and feel like questions.
The sky is low,
and tired.
Distance smells of wet dust,
and old trips.
A sign blinks once,
then gives up.
Somewhere a radio is on,
but not here.
My shadow breaks in puddles,
and forgets its shape.
Time does not hurry,
it only drips.
The night feels wide,
and unfinished.
No headlights appear,
no footsteps answer.
Only rain keeps talking
to the road.
I think of places
that did not wait for me.
The cold settles in,
like a quiet friend.
Even the moon hides
behind clouded glass.
The highway keeps still,
as if holding breath.
And I stand inside the rain,
learning how loneliness sounds.
