Slip Born

I drive in my old town; my home, the lake I used to live by.
It’s comforting to me — nauseating, it’s pulling me apart. The view is sereine.
I drive around in circles for hours, watching as daylight coasts into the orange night as I circle the crystal lake.
I, numbed and mindful, time the moment I let off the pedal, and allow for my car to decide for itself as it coasts into cyan sea.
In the moment of truth, I slip into subspace.