We came to a sign, pointing every direction.

Every mile was conscious.

You went that way, I went this way.

We never even told our own names.

But I still found the yellow light, then red.

There was a traffic jam lasting eons.

I think it was caused by vague normality,

and all the parallel lines.

My lungs screeched to a stop,

and I morphed into the side mirror

of who was next to me.

The next couple eons were comfortable,

mostly small and unnoticed by

those in the front and the back.

Then the middle collided.

I could have sworn my head burst open.

Though I rose from the smoke and saw

a nostalgic shadow whom walked away.

We were colored abstractly, but I noticed one thing.

Both our heads had broken.

And I left the duct tape at the beginning.