I flick off the lightswitch in my room and observe the room go black.
It’s easier to see the highway from my window without the glare from the lights.
The headlights from the cars rush by,
with the occasional honking from a truck.
The highway is partly obstructed by trees.
The green leaves cutting up the spectacle of lights in the spring. The snow covered branches adding to the serenity in the winter.
Everytime I glance out at the highway
I get the same thought:
The people driving on the roads,
They have their own lives.
They all have a place to be.
I try to think about where they could be traveling.
Maybe on a road trip,
Or to pick up a loved one from the airport.
But the sharp sound of cars pierces the otherwise silent night, Suddenly making my heart beat faster.
It is a stark reminder of another truth.
Everyone is out there living their own lives,
And I am confined to my house.
Like a mouse in a trap,
Wriggling, trying to get out.
Staring as everyone around me moves on.