window down, my fingers tracing circles into the wind. jim croce crackles in AM sunshine, '...never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them.' my warm face follows your gaze out into the road ahead. how does a kid know they are a son? maybe by the things they notice about their dad. you whistle, i wonder. when will i be like you? coffee would have to taste good. leaving early and returning late to dinner laid out for me would be a nice change. and i'd have to know all of the songs on the radio. if i were mansized, would I have to wear a seatbelt? you said that's why you don't. so i wouldn't either i guess. we fly through the morning in your orange chevy bracing over small hills. we defy gravity in moments of lift off and laughter. could i be like you? someone that the rules of physics did not apply to?
we are not good at goodbyes. perhaps it's because we believe that nobody can disappear anymore. with fewer full-stop moments motion begets mindset belies connection. like when we force our parting words around each other, each needing to be the last one heard and first one turning away, we then pass out of doors and through space without much witness. we used to do better. our words could armour souls, illuminate minds, and buttress courage with hope. we knew without being told that a short voyage away from us could mean forever or never coming back. so we offered ‘god be with you’ or we’d say ‘go with god’ or even ‘with god’ but now we nod just above gracelessness, if we even offer a goodbye. we used to charge god with protector and co traveller as defense against the world's imagination. but our minds, like the world, became filled with concrete things and it felt strange and oddly mystical to need blessings against the unknown of everything, anymore. our curated knowledge, piled up in silo'd spaces, shielded us from a seismic shift - no one falls off the edge of the earth these days because the rounding horizon always seems to lead them back to you. and we rely on that. everytime we say 'see ya', a binary star of understated black matter implodes around the moment and what makes us humane becomes oversimplified, commodified to the point that relationships only can exist in plain view. close a door light goes out. open a door light goes on. despite the truth that the light we see may have travelled thousands of years to reach us. that casual nod without any ephemeral fog of the hope that should so deeply run through our networks, creates a wide spread fractured mess of relations. some people we like, others we quote, a handful we actually hold hands with. and the trouble we face is that when language no longer has union with function, and it becomes only fashionable to wear relationships like red carpet clothing, and when we offer vague bookends to our comings and goings - then what are we really offering each other? can i offer a thought? that this is one possible vanguard of a world beginning to lose its meaning, a world that cannot be lived in, only through.