In an instant it was gone
But I sort of choked up for a second on the way to work. Just a quick gasp and a hard swallow out of nowhere. An old song I remember listening to on the way home from Mammoth when I was younger than I realized at the time, on a pink 395 evening, the last bit of sun capping the eastern peaks above the dulling valley. Maybe the only time I made that drive alone. And probably the last time I made it before I understood the importance of having people who know me completely. People who I couldn’t impress or hide things from. People who I hear now in my own voice. The song line was something about a small mistake, sometimes that’s all it takes. When I made mine it was too bright to see them. Maybe for a while they went unnoticed but we steep in memories and even the smallest pieces become bitter when steeped too long. And in an instant they’ll swallow up the sweetness. But I didn’t think of any of this while I was driving, or while I sat still and lifeless in the parking lot alone. My interior was quiet and isolated so I waited there for a blank moment, then pulled in a full breath and got up and out into the morning. Stretched and blinked in slow motion. Saw the keys in the ignition as I pushed the door shut. That’s when I knew.