He came to the highway at dawn,
boots covered in dust and dreams.
Machines were frozen,
their mouths full of silence.
He waited for the hum of engines,
for the rush that never came.
Only wind moved —
soft, uncertain,
like a whisper lost in steel.
The highway sleeps,
no journey, no sound.
The road that promised everywhere
now leads to nowhere bound.
He touched the cold concrete,
it felt like unfinished prayers.
Signs still shining,
but pointing into air.
He laughed a little —
a quiet man,
in love with things that never end.
And as the sky turned grey,
he walked away.
Leaving behind
a thousand miles
of waiting.