My eyes they are forward while always looking back, checking for blind spots that I missed in the past.
My fingers they sweat while switching lanes on the freeway, as my radio blasts M83 midnight city wishing that these streets would exchange addresses, in a flash, with the true desires of places I would rather be.
Lights blink like my mistakes, before my eyes, as I steer and think of clean slates with hope-filled dreams, tweaking the air to a warmer state, I could have made snow balls with my tears that day.
If I keep looking back, there will be nothing to look forward too.
-M
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