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Before Entering

Forty-five miles and forty-five miles and then I'm gone forty-five miles and forty-five more.
Add a few and I'll be there and it'll be done and the wheels will stop rolling and my heart will stop racing and my life will keep going but the engine stops turning and the engine will stop and I'll be there and so will she.
She will be there and she is.
And I have to stop, to catch my breath, to breathe. Because she can't.
Not on her own, not with out them.
It's the last round of a knockout, a boa constrictor is wrapped around my spine.
It's cold in here. It's the middle of July.
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