Fuck. Time passes by so stealthily. You blink, and now you’re talking to your parents on car drives and actually resonating with the quiet struggles they faced—struggles that you watched from the margins as a kid and couldn’t fully grasp. But now you see the nuances they tried to flatten and simplify for your peace; now you resonate with it.
Mom and I used to make fun of my stepdad for going on nostalgic tangents on car drives. We used to find it boring. Now she’s the one recounting memories—events that I was too young to experience. Almost like she held memory of these pockets in my place. Now I get to live it through her. And it all clicks with ease, like “oh, yeaah, of course thats what I would have done in your shoes” or “I see your logic for that choice” or “I can understand how two people try to build a life together but ultimately have to decide that it is better to part ways” even if their heart breaks for their kid.















