On building new roads

The nature of our memory’s roads, is that they can be retraced, broken down and put back together like building blocks, they can be made new. This is no longer the road I drove to see my friends every weekend, or the road where I sang at the top of my lungs to drown out my heart spitting open. It doesn’t remind me of how those friends don’t have my new phone number, or how my day, any day, has been. That it wouldn’t matter if they did. It’s not even the road I drove the one time I was high on hope.

Now, it’s the road I drove this second to last weekend, with some of my best friends, when we were filled with sadness and joy at the edge of everything that was about to change. It’s the road that takes more than an hour, and felt like the length of only one song because I was surrounded by, drowning in, laughing through the most unconditional of love.

I finally drove this road with friends, and the drive has never been more beautiful.