You wrote a song once, about sitting in parking lots. About being young, drunk, and alone. About friendship and sadness. About the youth that we all have to leave behind. We talked about it one night, and you came to see that that song meant a little more to me that you'd first expected. I'm not sure if you were surprised because you can't fathom me feeling that way, or because you simply thought you were the only one. My life has changed, and the wild winds of my youth have blown me in all directions. I'm not a kid in a parking lot today, but sometimes I wish I still was. There's a certain kind of simplicity in the silence, a certain kind of understanding that comes from that kind of sadness. I told you I'd never want to go back to those days, but I think I was wrong. I sit alone still, older, in my own space, drinking tea, and stress is still tugging on my face. And in these quiet moments, I wish I could go back to those moments, if only to see if I could meet you there.