We Used To Wait

One time I drove to her house, listening to Arcade Fire’s The Suburbs, when my alternator died and my battery started to drain.

It was late at night, and as the far away melodies played on, I watched all the lights on my dash fade in and out of vibrance. My headlights took deep breaths as I did, and I wondered what it all meant. The music carried on, more in step and powerful than my blinker, as I watched the voltmeter plummet lower and lower. I turned the heater off, and the cold winter air wasted no time surrounding me.

I came to a stop light, and finally decided to part ways with the musical accompaniment. I sat in silence, wondering what the end result of this would be. Still, I carried on to her house; just me, a dying car, and the frigid cold.

I felt lighter than the air all around me.

When I arrived to her house I pulled into her driveway and turned the car off, knowing it wouldn’t start again. I didn’t need it to.

Sometimes songs from that album will come up in a playlist; sometimes the cold air will creep in through the crevices and cracks; sometimes I’ll drive down that old road late at night, and I’ll pretend I’m on that trek all over again.

It’s a beautiful feeling.

We Used To Wait

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