Should those brakes fail, my first thoughts, as I watch the front end of the truck drop as it slides toward my stopped car, would be whether my daughter will be comforted should she need stitches or a cast after a backyard fall.
I wish my mind did not roll at the speed of my wheels.
What if, my defeated self, unable to rise, cannot lash together a promise to hold her faith, or cast a word into darkness to give location, reassurance, when she cries out after the torment of dreams?
I wish my mind did not roll at the speed of my wheels.
At impact, my own brakes release, my own car's front end drops and is a wedge, not unlike what I use to split firewood, that drops under the rear of the car in front of me and I see her life flash before my eyes. Her life's end, a flipping piece of loose film.
I wish my mind did not roll at the speed of my wheels.
I wish my mind sat still, like this black road, heavy on the ground, and did not catch thoughts in its spokes, that could cause the wheels to lock, and pitch this whole rig into oblivion. Oh take the weight from my mind, so that I may race away.
