I like how the repetition of "I'm not going to fall asleep" becomes more than staying awake behind the wheel. By the end, it feels like a promise to stay present, no matter what appears on the road ahead. The ordinary drive slowly turns into something much more emotional, and I thought that shift was handled really well.
Your poem has that Lincoln Highway ghost‑story vibe ... early motorists white‑knuckling through sameness, hypnotized by the road until the wheel slipped, the car veered, and history wrote it down as highway hypnosis. And me… loving popping wheelies… of course I’d catch the tilt in your language. The poem is basically a wheelie in slow motion: the front end lifting, the balance shifting, the rider trusting the moment not to flip.
But underneath that? It feels like someone trying to stay awake for someone they love… even when the road is monotonous, even when the headlights reveal strangers, fences, nails, danger. It’s a promise disguised as a warning ... meaning: I’m not going to stop showing up for you.
A wheelie is a tiny rebellion… a spark of joy in a straight line.
Sometimes the only way to stay awake in this life is to lift the front wheel and trust the tilt.
I like how the repetition of "I'm not going to fall asleep" becomes more than staying awake behind the wheel. By the end, it feels like a promise to stay present, no matter what appears on the road ahead. The ordinary drive slowly turns into something much more emotional, and I thought that shift was handled really well.
Thank you Antonio I wish so many monsters wouldn’t appear on the road !
A drive in the car becomes a journey of a lifetime . Beautiful, Holly!
so haunting and beautiful. you immediately immersed me and didn't let go <3
Thank you Lia! That feels great to hear
I really admire your writing. <3
Thank you Melodie that is such a sweet thing to say I cherish this comment
I love your use of imagery
Dear Ms. Von,
Your poem has that Lincoln Highway ghost‑story vibe ... early motorists white‑knuckling through sameness, hypnotized by the road until the wheel slipped, the car veered, and history wrote it down as highway hypnosis. And me… loving popping wheelies… of course I’d catch the tilt in your language. The poem is basically a wheelie in slow motion: the front end lifting, the balance shifting, the rider trusting the moment not to flip.
But underneath that? It feels like someone trying to stay awake for someone they love… even when the road is monotonous, even when the headlights reveal strangers, fences, nails, danger. It’s a promise disguised as a warning ... meaning: I’m not going to stop showing up for you.
A wheelie is a tiny rebellion… a spark of joy in a straight line.
Sometimes the only way to stay awake in this life is to lift the front wheel and trust the tilt.
Steve