Way back when, as a passenger on long road trips,
After everyday conversation had ended,
My mind would, as it did and still does in church,
Seem to replay every event of my life,
Every thought I'd ever held.
At the end of my train of life thoughts and stories,
I'd ask the driver, silent for a time by then,
What he was thinking about.
The answer was always the same--nothing.
I was young enough then, I suppose,
To believe that everyone's mind
Worked pretty much the same way.
I didn't believe it was true--
That anyone's mind could hold no thoughts,
I could only think that some thoughts
Were too personal to share.
But we grow older, and life gets colder
And now I think of nothing too.
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