For the Sanctity of the Moment
The sun has not yet risen
and the world is still cold and dark.
Our car is the only sound
as you and I drive on in a sort of daze,
staring at the nothingness that lies in our wake.
No other cars are on the road.
The traffic lights obey our every command.
The world seems still and unchanging,
but in an hour it will not be like this.
It will be bright, or maybe the sky will still be pink,
and businesspeople in dull suits
will clog the streets with their dull cars
as they head to their dull jobs.
Now it is just you and me and the disappearing moon.
We say nothing—
it almost seems that we are holding our breath,
not wanting to make a sound,
not wanting to ruin the delicacy of this moment.
Maybe we would fill the air with talk of our feelings,
or, more likely, with talk of the weather,
but we talk about neither of those things.
As night becomes dawn,
all we can do is stare in silence.