wait for your father to fix his truck the game

the truck sits silent, a patient beast, the highway hums, a song at least. your father words, it wont take long, beneath the sun, its feels a weeklong. the minutes drift, no one appears, the world expands, then disappears. a car rolls by, its fleeting sound, then silence falls, a weight profound. the truck wont start, it never will, yet something in you feels the still. a memory forms, though nothing's said, of open skies, and time thats fled. for in the wait, the moments shine, a fleeting world, a lifes design.