The floral long sleeve shirt I’m wearing matches the honey-colored ambiance of the late afternoon. In the deserted road, the wind collapses against my face as I drive—my right hand on the wheel while I rest my left arm on the car’s door. I see the coast across the hill road and the quiet waves of the sea paint a breathtaking view.
I press on the gas pedal and the engine roars. The retro, almost scenic, tune of the radio portrays the perfect escape from the busy city. My lips part as I breathe out all the black spirit of my body—the shakes and trembles and echoes of the dark thoughts.
My caramel-hued sunglasses seep the panoramic view into my sight. In its quiet attempt, the landscape wonders why I’ve lost myself in this kind of adventure when it is obvious from my skin and face creases that all I drink are the noises of the voices from the tall buildings and urban dreams. If it were to listen to my unspoken words, it would know the dilemma of my body and its desire to find a space as godly as this.
My phone rings and I turn it off. I take the soda from the cup holder and sip from the straw. For a moment, my veins jump in ecstasy. I finally know the taste of sugar.
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