I suppose, if I felt that I had to write something about something, and if I felt that I had to use an analogy to do so, I'd write something like this.

We were just cruising along. I was driving, she was riding shotgun. We had no specific destination in sight - we just went wherever the road took us. We rode together because we enjoyed each other's company. We rode together for a long time.

Everything was good. Not great, but good. Better than most road trips. It was fun. It was nice. It was easy to imagine that a fantastic destination awaited us, but still, it was the journey that captivated me. Us. Whatever.

But then, then for some reason that I could not and still cannot fathom, she decided to grab the wheel, and overpower me, and cause us to veer off of the smooth road. Into the brush.

We're still moving, I suppose. But we're encountering a lot more bumps and other obstacles now. It's pretty fucking distracting, and it's become a lot harder to just enjoy the drive and the company.

And nothing has been the same since.

That's what I'd write, if I felt that I had to write something about something.