The open road is empty.

For a brief second, she wonders where everyone is, what they are possibly doing. They each has their own life to lead, places to be, people to meet — she tells herself, “Unlike you.”

Silently though, she likes it here. The openness, the steady silence of the night, the dimly lit sky.

Here, she is able to drop all her worries. No, here she can bare all her worries out in the open and let them all sink in and seep through her skin, one by one.

Here, she doesn’t have to kid herself that she is happy — because she is not. Who is, really?

Here, her restless mind can go awfully quiet. She used to think that the silence will force her to overthink things, that the quiet will consume her whole. But that doesn’t happen.

Here, everything is strangely at peace — and she likes the irony of it all.

But just like everybody else, with their own life, their places to be, people to meet — she will have to snap her peaceful self back to reality. Later, when everything seems a little too much again for her, she will be here.

She will know where to go.

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