Love is a Highway

Love on speed.

I like to think I’m in the driver’s seat when it comes to love.

Zipping around the city, I sail through intersections because the lights are all green. Places to get to, take a back street and find a park first time around the block.

Around the suburbs, I wave to people as I pass. I always let others go ahead of me when they’ve been waiting to join the flow. I’m at ease now as home is so close. In familiar territory, I dodge potholes and manhole covers, knowing every curve of the road.

Out on the open road, the cruise control’s set and life is good. I’ve got the window down and the sun shimmers on the flat stretches. Only the occasional road train buffets my vehicle and forces me to grip just a little bit tighter to keep on course. Escape is only a short distance from here.

Skid to a stop. End daydream.

Weekdays are my city street and I loathe it with every fibre of my being. Rush here. Stop there. Dodge couriers on bikes and pedestrians with a death wish. The hum and pulse raise my own. Stop again. Gridlock on the freeway is tantamount to torture and then there’s peak hour. There’s little time for love.

Weeknights are the road to home. Tail lights glow and then disappear as each car carries its cargo home to be reunited with love.

Weekends are the road less travelled. These are the times when I like coasting, drinking in the sights and soaking up every detail of the world around me. Spending every moment coasting with the pedal off the gas even though we’re being propelled forward to the inevitable start of the weekday rush again.

The speed of love on the super highway.

Image from: here.

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