Of My Own (from Endless Sum... — Miley Cyrus Taste

She leaned back, closing her eyes, letting the melody wash over her like a warm tide. The world wanted a piece of her, but for the first time, she wasn't sharing. She was savoring the quiet, the independence, and the literal and metaphorical "taste of her own" life. She put the car in gear, not toward a destination, but simply away from everything that wasn't her.

The neon sign of the motel flickered, casting a rhythmic violet glow over the cracked leather seat of the convertible. Maya sat alone, the engine still humming, the desert air finally cooling against her skin. For years, she had been a mirror—reflecting everyone else’s needs, cravings, and expectations until she couldn't remember the color of her own thoughts. Miley Cyrus Taste Of My Own (from Endless Sum...

She wasn't waiting for a phone call anymore. She wasn't checking the rearview mirror to see if she was being followed or judged. As the synth-heavy beat of the radio filled the cabin, she realized the static in her head had finally cleared. She felt a strange, electric thrill in her own company—a realization that she was her own best high. She leaned back, closing her eyes, letting the

She reached into the glove box and pulled out a peach, biting into it. The sweetness was sharp, grounding. She put the car in gear, not toward