ribbons of light danced over her fingers as they gripped the steering wheel. passing headlights blurred her sight, eyes finding the white line. steady. a familiar tune played through static on the radio and she forgot half the drive watching for the clouds that gather under street lamps this time of year. she tries not to think about how tired she is. or the things she fears she’s left unfinished. it hurts sometimes. the way the days run together into weeks and months. the way old friendships can seem suddenly foreign. how her thoughts are so very far away, like fingers grasping at the edge of a thin shawl. it hurts when the moments she gathers the strength to look forward to pass quickly…leaving only a sinking feeling in their wake. maybe next time, she’ll think. maybe tomorrow the peace comes.