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But tell me you love me, come back and haunt me

February 3, 2012

Driving down that road that leads me home, the radio as my constant random companion that sidles up to be battling its eyelashes dangerously-at times daring me to cry at stop lights. Behind that wheel that turns right and left but usually just goes straight I stay in my lane, minding my manners and singing along without regard to who can see me at the stop light. I am Bette Milder and Chris Cornell with my own orchestra as the wheels beneath me carry me by rote to where I will always be.

My physical body grounded, connected by umbilical cords, mortgage payments, the familiar bed  and arguing partner. My silent mind my own to wander, wonder and wax on ridiculously, singing in perfect I am not in the shower tune as the words pouring out of my radio surprise me with their ability to know what I am feeling and setting a soundtrack so perfectly.

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