riding in cars with boys.

I don't know what spurned it on this morning, but I thought of some of my most vibrant, sweet, intense memories.

Not surprisingly, most of them were in cars. I feel like I've spent so much definitive time in autos...long road trips where you inadvertently bare your heart to your copilot, heading to a place your soul is calling you to, or just short trips on back roads where your headlights are the only ones aiding the moon and stars and you're just expanding with love.

In high school, it was with Sparky in his Camaro. Or was it a Mustang? I don't remember. I know it was fire engine red, with bench seats, and one summer night for no reason at all we drove around the hills of Riverside, lights piercing the darkness, Green Day crooning to us.

Later, I think of Aaron, about riding in his super loud Jeep, holding his hand and smiling so wide my cheeks hurt into the half-abandoned orange groves of aged Redlands. Best friends, other halves, until everything shifted and morphed, as friendships do.

My brother in his orange Camaro, cruising around Route 66, having to jump out of the backseat halfway around on our third trip so I could make it to a concert on time. His shining, beautiful, laughing face. Oh I love him. The same way I love my sister, in my deepest heart of hearts, where loving them is almost like a universal test to see how huge it can be. I'm a better person because of how much I love them.

I could make lists for days. Riding in (street)cars with Carl and Queenie in San Francisco, any car at hand with Adam in Phoenix, a cramped Yaris across Portland with a guy from college who I literally never talked to again after that trip. With Steve, my sweet wonderful boyfriend, sitting in a parking lot and holding his hand and him delaying going home even though he works early because he doesn't want to stop our touch earlier than needed.

So much love. I'm so blessed.