You're carried in the direction you're already going, spinning out of control since you lost control. It's human nature to flinch. Nobody would fault you for letting go of the steering wheel, but you let go simply because you like the way it looks as it turns. Body crashes forward through cold, hard glass as everything else starts rolling to the left. This is going to leave marks, and most will never be seen. Why you're smiling as the world starts tumbling is beyond me.
Finish that thought coming out of your mouth and things will change direction. Speed, too. It's called velocity, and its sudden stop hurts. That you choose words like you choose ammunition is both your boon and bane. A wound that draws blood will heal, but wounds that draw pain echo in memory. You haven't slowed down, merely turned sharply, and everyone vomits. Life is revealed as the cruel joke it is, but at least you're finally laughing now.
You're carried by a canopy of silk dragging you away from the aircraft. You've been trained to change direction, "slip away" they call it, but that lie only works when standing on the ground. Wind is the only master up here, and your wings are false. The only thing slipping away is sanity, sliding into fear. Pain wakes you up again as you hit the ground. One way or another, you're going to hurt. You're laughing so hard, you're crying.
Every mistake you've ever made has put you on this road, in this place. Right here, right now is nothing more than the sum of your actions, driven blindly until you wound up where you needed to be. A ticket would’ve brought you here; a map would've shown you the way, but fewer roads would’ve been taken. Without control, there's no way to learn from fucking up; without wrong turns, there's no way to know what was missed. The joke is over.
You're carried by emotion, unaware of any thought. Why your opponent deserved a blackened eye doesn't matter. Maybe you were pushed to the ground like you remembered, but that won't be on the video. Anger finds a strange way to release itself, because it can't be held for long. What's worse is that you like it. It's said that love makes the world go 'round, but you know that's not true. Love does nothing. Sin is responsible for progress. But now you know, and you can smile again.
Taking the long way around finally seems worth it. Experience has tempered impatience, though swinging pendulum remains a persistent enemy. Too early and you wouldn't have been ready; too late and she would have been gone. Reaction and thought travel at the speed of light, and though there's hesitation between sunset and sunrise, it doesn't matter. Dreams happen in the dark when roads are harder to see.
You’re carried by momentum, realizing that love does nothing because it wants to be seen as you drive by. She's standing in the way and you're looking forward to the impact. Broken glass will be soft and warm. Why you’re smiling as the world starts tumbling finally makes sense. It’s too late to stop, and you didn’t want to, anyway.