from the memoir

I imagine you in the profile of the stranger in the car next to me. He wears his hat the way you did when I knew you, when we knew each other like the words to this song, by heart.

When I drive, I think of you. Always. The city’s rhythms became our music, and you became mine. Like a song stuck in my head, your lyrics are trapped within the deepest corners of me. My ribcage, the harp you keep strumming, even when you were two thousand miles away.

Maybe beyond this space—beyond these windows, beyond the body of this car—is a place where you are trying to reach me.