The truth is that I am happy only when I am sitting in the car
The truth is that I am happy only when I am sitting in the car,
Between the place I have just left and the unknown destination.
My happiness is unbound only when traveling; when I arrive, anywhere,
It suddenly becomes a corner of melancholy and pain that bathes my soul.
In motion, I find that elusive balance,
A dance of wheels on endless asphalt, a cascade of untied dreams.
Each kilometer, a story that opens and closes,
A story untold, searching for a never-found ending.
I am a wanderer of life, seeking through endless roads,
Each stop a thorn in my chest, a knot of sorrows.
Like a comet, I shine only in the flight toward infinity,
When I stop, my light dims, and I gaze into a silent void.
The car is my refuge, a vessel for my astral journeys,
A sanctuary of melancholy, where the magic takes shape.
I leave behind the masks of the world and become myself,
A solitary pilgrim lost between points on a map.
In the speed that carries me, I rediscover an ephemeral meaning,
A meaning that fades with every turn taken, every defined horizon.
When the engine falls silent and the world seems deafened by stillness,
I find in the pause the most severe suffering.
Each stop is a reminder of where happiness left me,
Each place touched by my steps, a dark page in an unseen journal.
With incomprehensible longing, I dream of endless roads,
Of perpetual motion, like an endless waltz.
Between departure and arrival, between today and tomorrow,
I find the magic of a bitter freedom, a silent flight.
I am a heart's nomad, a seeker of vague infinities,
Constantly searching in motion, for a peace that never arrives.
Thus, I navigate between worlds, between dream and reality,
A perpetual traveler of destiny, without a place of rest.
My happiness is like a migrating bird,
Finding its joy only on the horizon, never in a settled nest.
And in this dance of roads, in the melody of unwritten paths,
I embrace solitude, melancholy, the magic of open roads.
My happiness, an ephemeral chimera, feeds on the desire to be nowhere,
In a world where between places, I find the essence of what I am, a passing soul.
Copyright ©
Dan Enache
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