Between Two Yellow Lines

Every time I pull into the parking spot from that night, I get emotional. The air smelled like the crisp beginnings of fall. I remember, all too well, sitting there together in my car.  We just talked, waiting for the others. I felt so happy to be there with you. Secretly, I hoped the others would make a wrong turn on their way back. Take a little bit longer to return. That would have given us more time together. I could have sat there all night talking to you. I could have listened to every word you had to offer. We could have listened to the radio without speaking. A Stevie Wonder song trickled through the speakers from your Pandora station. Singing along was only natural. Listening to that song now brings me back to that night. Brings me back to sitting there between two yellow lines together. A small space created solely by yellow paint. A space that to most is trivial. That space now evokes a moment I never want to forget. Moments like that make life worth living. But, like every other moment, it ended. It was there and gone. Time shouldn’t be measured by numbers but by moments and memories as such. Distant ghosts of memories occupy my mind. Ghosts that remind me of you. Every time I pull into that parking spot, I get emotional. Every time I pull into that parking spot, I think of you.

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