Baggage in the Frunk

You start out with a clear head. Everything is so clearly defined, in focus. There's clarity everywhere. Slowly, you start accumulating stuff - some physical, but a lot of it mental.

And the next thing you know. The windshield of your vision is collecting dust, splattered with some dead bugs you've acquired along the way. There's still an old wrapper in the cup holder from when you had that dark chocolate. You're tired and hungry and wish you had that chocolate now.

The seats in the back are dusty and there's so much crap and dirt on the foot mats. There's an old book and a dirty umbrella under your seat that you can't be bothered to clean up. The service light is on and the dashboard has multiple layers of dust.

Where did all the clarity, the focus go? Light years in a jiffy and here you are in an uncared-for dump of a barely functioning vehicle.

You step out of the vehicle and light the rag that's hanging off the gas tank inlet. You watch it light, push the vehicle down the cliff and walk away from it.

You have nothing left, except perhaps the clothes on your body, barely hanging.

You sit down on the dirt ridden road, lie down even. You are surrounded by dirt, and covered in dirt. You bawl your eyes out. There's more to come.

For now, there's nothing and that's all you care for.

You'll sleep peacefully tonight.