There is a Distance

There is a distance in the weeks
when the months are on the verge of a year;
when you can still count your fingerprints
on the headliner
and feel the wear on the imaginary brake pedal;
when before safe was never something
you needed to remind yourself of
and traffic only tested your patience,
not your ability to breathe;
when pictures make you shudder
and words make you weep
and you still stay awake,
wondering how you could have sat
in the front seat.

There is a distance,
and it’s the feeling of
going numb.