when will i be home?

I'm driving from Orlando to nowhere
in no feasible hurry.
Images flash of you, your smile, your hair
swiftly, but not blurry.
I sharply feel we haven't talked in over a day,
and it feels wrong.
It's hard to discern this fractured way
without your tones of song.
I don't know where the last hour went
as the cars floated by.
I don't know how much more life will be spent
without feeling your rode sigh.