Wind howling through the half down window. The engine growls repeatedly in it's attempt to dance with the dirty road. A black mustang galloping through to the unknown. The broken speedometer is all the way to the right, one hundred and twenty Miles per hour. But he's running even faster, he can feel it. He keeps a steady hand on the wheel, knowing one small mistake and it all turns into a lump of metal. Fire and ashes, and trails of hot petrol on the cold senseless highway. For a second, he wants that.
He wants to feel something, even if death. To know there is no left regret.
He wants to rise, only to fall and rise again. The love, the joy, the fear and pain.
He wants it all and something more. To find and lose, he wishes for.
Something to gain, something to lose. Tonight he's making no excuse.
He's not alone. The Devil rides shotgun tonight.
"Can you hear me?"
Love,Just.
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