28 may 2003.

we follow each other through familiar sidestreets, winding between scattered stop signs and past obnoxious lawn novelties. hours earlier we recounted memories of our favorite summer (together, that is, between tenth and eleventh grade), when we made friends with the boys we always admired and later developed heartcrushing relationships with them. the summer we walked to local parks and went to shows for socialization efforts, and the music was a second priority.

its just the three of us now and talking about it doesn't recreate it, but this movement, this action can. every push on the brakes feels like i'm hitting the pause button.

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