We both sat here.
You drove, I sat in the passenger seat.
We argued over the radio station sometimes.
We both liked country music though-
we would keep it on the highest volume,
the dial cranked all the way to the right.
There are dimes in the ash tray,
grocery lists in the cup holders,
your baseball cap and sweatshirt
are thrown onto the backseat,
and dog tags hang from the mirror.

You used to laugh and rush through yellow lights
until there was no more paved roads
and we would ride down gravel roads.
Then, sometimes, we would sit in the grass
and look at stars.
Sometimes, even, you would let me
borrow your sweatshirt,
on cold days,
when I forgot mine
because I didn’t believe you when you said
that it would be cold.
Those nights were the best-
it was peaceful.
We didn’t have to worry.

Now I drive, and nobody sits in the passenger seat.
The radio station is where we left it-
on country music.
The dial is turned all the way to the right.
Everything is where you left it.
I rush through yellow lights,
and drive down gravel roads.
I sit in the grass, and look at the stars,
even on cold days,
when I forget a sweatshirt.
I don’t have you anymore to tell me
that it will be cold.
These nights are the worst.
Because I know
that you’re not coming home.