Oh, how I wished I could have been driving
Straight to you, on the long highway
On those lonely, dark nights
after closing time.
But you held my hand
With your voice:
A whispered choice—you don't need to stop
At those old haunts, not even in the snow.
And somehow I believed, as I sped
Past them—a blurred isolation—
That I could sprinkle neon stars across
The purple twilight in your backyard
Off the Avenue.
Continue
Stay in the room a little longer.
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A studio reading for the archive, voiced with care and restraint.
Studio reading
Off the Avenue0:00 / 0:31
Part of a living collection since September 2024.