You wake up and you’re still at the wheel. No-one can say how long you’ve been driving, no-one knows where you need to be. It won’t stop them from making up stories. It won’t stop them from telling you where to go. Sure you can keep your eyes on the road if you want to. Sure you can tell them where to go yourself. It might not be the road you’ve chosen. It might not be a road at all, but there it is and here you are. Waking up is only part of the battle. Waking up is where you are.
The scenery unfolds, from tree line to strip mall, from asphalt to billboard to hazard lights it goes on and on. There are maps and there are guide books, and sooth both said and unremarked. The head dissembles while the heart denies. The heart provokes while the head plans and plots. You can choose to listen. You can choose to speak. You can choose to drift and to drive. It isn't a matter of miles per hour. It isn't a matter of daylight left to burn. The timer is always on, the count is always down. The road either stick or swerve, one way always spent for another. We only ever believe in one direction at a time.
If you really wanted, you could stop for something. If you really wanted, you could go all night. There probably isn't a reason, there probably isn't a rhyme. Fate most likely didn't need you here, and that voice that told you wasn't really God. Still, it is nice to have a plan. It is nice to have all the numbers ready if you want. Dawn long gone, and the night will soon be tugging at the skirts of dusk. You might as well head towards someplace better. You might as well follow that unseen star, the one with all the wishes wallowing in its wake. There's no telling how long this will take. You might as well follow that dream, now that the dreaming is done.