Curious, but coward to ask, What went wrong, With the eyes of her friend, That even denied to look at her. The road was wobbly, Just like her heart, Through the dense forest, With canopy and the sun, As bright as her mind. The other two cracked Their creepy jokes sitting behind, But the doors of her ears, Were narrow for them to enter. The thin passage had been waiting, For the melodious voice of her friend, Which was kept from reaching her, Without her knowledge. On the seat beside the steering, Of the shiny open blue car, Her views either on the mirror, Or the mysterious face of the driver with fear. She was going to celebrate her birthday, As planned on the highway, With the best people of her, Nineteen year old life, Irony lied in the fact that the closest one, Even being terribly desperate to speak, Was asked not to use her voice, Until the clock strikes midnight. Her lips grabbed the courage, And managed to move making a sound, "What's wrong with you people ?" The back seated replied with a laughter, "It's your birthday tomorrow Or rather tonight, What could possibly go wrong ?" She miserably replied, "What could be more wrong, Than my best friend ignoring me, Right the day before my birthday ?" The driver had her eyes on the road But on her friend, Silently peeping into her hear. She had her ears to the music, But listening to her friend, Who whispered without a sound. She had her lips singing the song, But saying to the to-be birthday girl, "I love you the most" Yet the words never reached its destiny. Maybe the fight, Of the road and the blue car, Denied to witness this confession, Maybe the boastful rock, Standing in the middle of the path, Changed the direction, Not only of the car, But also the route of, Their immense friendship. The driver failed her driving test, Not being able to confess what she had to, Not being able to save whom she wanted to. Her glittering eyes didn't shine of pride But of tears. Her begs were not accepted. Her pleads were not heard by the ears, Which a few hours ago Used to lust for the voice. The dead heart didn't reply this time, Perhaps it was tired of answering faithfully. Perhaps it was too late. The car started with four buddies, Returned with the driver in black, Being accompanied by the three, Wrapped in white sheets. The road trip didn't end up, The car crashing the big tree, Diverted by the rock, But leading the alive, To the biggest realisation, Of the importance of confession.