Night: there is darkness on the road that we move on: but inside here, at least for short time, there is warmth. This enclosed space between us soothes me, a time of truce and peace in the midst of war games and battlefields to breathe; to recover from the knife wounds given and received. There is a long highway with other souls on it, but I don’t see them other than objects that we move by and forget in some strange path that we never have been on together: what am I doing here with you, I don’t know: I don’t even know how I got here, but in this moment, it all feels right. Who needs explanations, when the warmth of a fire in the midst of the cold blows through.

What is it that brings us together, I am tempted to ask: I am supposed to dissect all of this, and justify and explain why I am here with you when my logic dictates I should be somewhere else. I have plans, you see: they really should not include the likes of you, the likes of stretching down yawns of asphalt with other crawlers looking for the need for speed and other drugs for good and bad boys and girls alike. I don’t need any of the other drugs when I am sitting here, satiated for now, you so close to me that the taste of your nearness satisfies me.

Desire is like that: a fire in its own right, causing seekers to drop their alms bowls and run towards it, who needs penance when the fire rushes through your soul and takes you over; isn’t that the holy ecstasy that everyone seeks? What is there to renounce in that moment when everything seems complete in that union?

There are no words: no need to explain why I choose you now, why I feel the way I do, nothing spoken between us, and I don’t have to wonder why. Words, they mess things up, they complicate it all, muddy the waters. Soon, we will discover the truth of this. Soon, the walls of rage will sear through.

But for now, silence: I watch you as you survey the road as your prey, your eyes just betraying the storm current until the glassy calm of sea at the surface. You are like that, I have learned from watching. It is good to see the calm in you. I drink from that: it is a balm to me.

You watch the road, but you watch me too: always look where you are going, you plan ahead. The road, it takes me where it will, but I always travel further on its path to wherever it leads me, at such times, roads diverge. The road always goes somewhere. A dead end is a destination too, or so I have learned. Detours: they are evasions towards the inevitable, yet always seem so tempting in the beginning, an entwining of possibilities like mirages in the desert.

And as the traveler seeks oases, so I make my journey towards you. It’s always nice to wrap yourself in a cloak even it is only for a short time, but it’s the prominence of permanence that can trap you. Something that feels like forever is only as long as you make it out to be. In the silence that is you, I write you into my soul: the seeker always finds himself, and I see myself in you.