There is something surreal about being alone in the car with a boy you love. Surrounded in the dark of night with the streetlights casting patterns across his skin. He’s smiling so wide you itch to reach over and touch, feel that sublime happiness for yourself. He puts on his favorite song and asks you to listen.

No, shh.
Turns the volume up.

Listen.

The car shakes with the beat, syncing with the pounding of your heart.

And when you put that song on later, laying in bed, your eyes squeezed shut, all you’ll see is the rush of night, the curve of his cheek, the soft spot behind his ear you yearn to press your lips to, his voice, so eager, urging, wanting you to know the song the way he does, and God, you want to. His hands curled around the wheel, reliable, safe, and you think about running your fingers over each knuckle, every callous, mouth open against his palm.

And that song, it will stay in the back of your mind. It’ll come with his smile and the revving of a car engine and lamp light that dances in puddles.