Frosted Windows

I try to look out the frosted
window. I tilt my head.
I try to see what’s in front
of me. My hands are frozen
to the wheel. I cannot feel
my fingers or toes. I’m running
late on the darkest day.
I stay on the other side of these
frosted windows. I stay strong.
I shake myself awake. I take
my time. I wait out the flurry.
I look out the frosted window
and see no need to hurry.
My vision is blurry. I look
at the rear-view, I see
a younger me. I sit alone
as the snow passes by.
I must find a way home.
The worst thing I can do is try.






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