Swish Swash

The sound of windshield wipers...oddly soothing.

Swish swash
the wipers on the windshield beat out a steady rhythm 
lulling me into a dreamless sleep
riding as a kid in the car, the pit pat of the rain
was the world’s best lullaby, like a pain
killer. Sunk deep into the warm car seat, I swayed, like branches in a tree
and I knew in that one instant deep inside me 
that I was safe.
But you wake up one day and you aren't in the car anymore, 
the soothing sound is gone forever
and you are thrust into the bright light of day to face your worst fears.
Those moments don’t last for long, they’re but an oasis in a childhood of abuse 
and hurt and sadness and regret and a bunch of other words that you don’t need to know at that age.
Confused and blinded by a light that hinders instead of leading,
pleading to a god who isn't there 
you reach out for that comfort, that sense of belonging but your hand grasps air 
instead, dead
on the inside you turn inward. 
Cold and lonely days stretch out in front of you, 
rainy days without windshield wipers to sooth you with their steady swish swash.
You trudge through the snow and sludge and dream of better days.
Life changes, it gets better, you grow up, and move beyond your old pain, your old scars now hidden beneath tattoos that remind you of who you are
far away from home but making it, 
not even faking it anymore, 
the war is subsiding in the world.
I reach for happiness, I reach for joy, and in spite of how much things have changed, even if I got fame and prosperity, 
hope and serendipity, 
there is still something missing. 
The tiny utopia I once knew long ago.
I’ll get a car one day, and have someone drive it for me in the rain
just to hear the swish swash of the wipers on the window
and feel at peace again.

The End

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