drive.

you call my stillness boredom
like silence is a crime.
like calm must mean i'm empty,
like peace is wasted time.
but storms have worn these bones before
in ways i rarely show,
and after walking through that dark
you learn to move... slow.

i used to chase horizons
until my lungs burned thin,
collecting little fractures
where wonder should have been.
new cities, new disasters,
new lessons carved in stone,
and every road kept whispering:
"you're meant to walk alone."

so i learned the art of quiet
like tending candlelight,
small joys without a witness,
soft mornings without fight.
a cup, a song, a window,
a sky that didn't scream,
a life that asked for nothing
except the space to breathe.

you see a girl who lingers,
who doesn't leap or run.
you see a closed horizon
where there should be a sun.
but you don't see the mileage
behind these careful eyes,
the map that's burned to ashes
from too many goodbyes.

and you... you blaze like comets,
forever chasing flame,
new roads beneath your boots
before the last had name.
you hunger for the thunder,
for stories loud and wild,
while i just guard the quiet -
i think it's fine, alright?

maybe we are strangers
sharing borrowed air,
two languages of living
that never learned to pair.
you think my calm is prison,
i think your storms are knives,
and somewhere in that difference
we bruise each other's lives.

but listen now, my restless love,
before we drift apart:
i'm not afraid of motion,
i'm just done being the start.
i've dragged the wheel through miles alone,
through wreckage, dust, and fear.
if roads still call your name...
then take the driver's seat, my dear.

i'll sit beside the window,
watching worlds unfold.
not chasing, not resisting,
just letting life be told.
lead us where you're dreaming,
i'll follow where you steer.
i'm tired of searching solo...
but i'll ride with you from here.