Drive-Thru Life

Life goes by,
like a train you never catch.
You run,
thinking you're getting somewhere,
but the tracks stretch further, always out of reach.

You miss the way someone looked at you once,
like sunlight softening in the late afternoon.
You miss the sky slipping into evening,
as shadows stretch their arms across the horizon.

You trade it all
for another task, another goal;
always another, always fleeting.
Everything's fast now,
too fast.

You grab, you go,
but nothing ever stays in your hands long enough to feel it.
Moments slip like sand through your fingers,
until they're gone.

And one day, you'll stop,
turn back,
and the landscape of your life will be a blur,
the colors smeared, the details lost.

You'll realize
it was all just a drive-thru life.
Fast.
Cold.
Gone.

And nobody's waiting.
The windows shut and the doors close. The lights flicker out
as you stand,
finally still,
with nothing left to catch.