Nightdriving.

The darkness isn't darkness - it's blackness by its definition. Complete. Surrounding. A meeting car disappears in the distance, engulfed by the total dark. The silence is in the air, just as full and rich as the blackness. And the fog. Pressuring. It's everywhere around him. Making the road invisible. Only the lights lead the way, yet everything is unclear, faded by the thick wall consisting of blackness and fog. The lights of a house vanish behind him, for a moment he's blinded by the lights of a second meeting car. Then once again silence, darkness. He can't decide whether or not he's enjoying this. The loneliness. But as a matter of fact, he doesn't mind. The quietness is calming. Soothing. He's alone, no matter how you look at it. Yes, there's him and the car, the other cars and the houses. And the animals hiding in between the trees, masters of invisibility during nighttime. But right here, there's only him surrounded by the black fog and silence.

I met a car who kept a slow pace. Probably because of the bad view. Maybe the driver was afraid. Afraid of driving off the road or getting hit by someone. Maybe he or she was afraid of the dark. Or maybe just afraid of the animals lurking around. After staying in front of me for several minutes, it let me pass by.

He realized that he was alone without being alone as he watched the car's lights disappear in front of him in the distance, before he once again was driving into the darkness. And to him, it was all good.