A Car Passing By You

in a haze of golden nostalgia and the smell of the early September air, you are driving down roads at 4 AM.
you are nineteen
"this is my life, this is my life, this is my life," you remind yourself- a mantra of sorts.
the road twists and turns as you think.
that one Two Door Cinema Club plays in your Subaru as your best friend is asleep in the passenger seat (sage and summertime).
you remember the nights on the golf course- the laughs, the adventures, the heartbreak, climbing up shelters to get a better view of the stars. the broken sled. the vanilla tea you swallowed in the house down highway seven. the death of your dog. the mosh pit you found yourself in at that concert in Denver when you were sixteen. the way his eyes looked when he said he didn't feel the same way towards you. your heart racing after that track meet. your heart racing after you kissed him while stargazing. your heart racing after you graduated. snow.
your best friend shifts in the passenger seat, her head resting (uncomfortably?) on the seat belt. the sunrise over Boulder has never looked brighter.
then the memories flood back in and back out- like light illuminating a dark room for a faint second, the shadows of a car passing by on the ceiling of your living room.
the cinnamon ice cream. the smell of the bonfire and the sound of Blink-182 songs being played on an acoustic guitar. that one night spent in the airport for the heck of it. that one cafe with the books and the cats. pretending you're in that ending scene in The Perks of Being a Wallflower and sitting out the sunroof and telling whoever is driving to turn that Mat Kearney song up.
the blood rushes in your heart as you see that Colorado sun peak out over the city lights. the people starting to wake up, imagining the smell of coffee, the morning breath, the sleepy eyes, kids getting up for school, sleepless teenagers, the benches, the buses.
you remember seeing that mix CD you gave him in his car after his girlfriend broke up with him-unopened even three weeks later. you remember that some people only do good deeds if an audience is watching. you remember the fake smiles. you remember the hugs that meant everything to you and nothing to him. you remember the computer lab in your high school. you remember that one exchange student from Italy. you remember that Passion Pit concert.
you remember crying in your car and sitting in front of the high school you graduated from two years ago. you were wearing socks and sandals and listening to Modern Baseball and realizing how selfish you are.
you are realizing that grace is a concept you will never fully understand and a concept that you must give out and give out and give out. you are realizing you will never move past it unless you give it up and let grace devour it. you are realizing that forgiveness and emotion and communication are strengths and you are realizing that every moment and every memory is something you should always keep with you, but you are also realizing that you should never let a memory and a moment eat you up and leave you stranded.
you look over at your best friend in the passenger seat of your Subaru as that one Mat Kearney song wakes her up gently and she mumbles something about The Perks of Being a Wallflower and falls back asleep.
you keep driving.