i wonder when i will see a BMW as just a car and not a haven--an earthy smelling burnt orange cemetery for memories of road trips with my feet on the dash, your disapproving glance but the windows rolled too far down to care. my skin seared in the summer sun, piling sandwich upon iced coffee just to drive back to your house and park in front of the TV. Picnics on the bench. You sweating under the sunlight to see my smile. New Haven train station, at early evening and the middle of the night, sprinting with hands locked toward the next adventure. Your hand off the shift and on my leg. Trusting that we wouldn't crash as we zipped through the woods late at night, eager to crash and sleep the day away. Everything I've pushed away to cope. Your broken tape player, the heated seats cranked on my side without prompt. Taking the long route for dinner on Whitney Ave. Parking lot coffee dates and people-watching Sundays, the day you drove to Montauk at sunrise to catch the ferry while I slept by your side; the only time I've ever seen you awake before dawn. Our movement together; our bickering, the radio tuned to obscurities blasting with open windows to see who noticed. Hotel sleepovers in the Connecticut countryside, and Rhode Island for the day. Car *** and Long Island nights parked by the water, the humid heat in my hair, salt and trees in my mouth. The sound of the locking door, the key held clenched between your teeth. The humming engine and your backwards hat perched. I don't know which permeates my mind the most, but when an m3 shows up in the rear view mirror I blink back tears until it fades away.