A hundred times a day the yellow light turns red

Sometimes I find myself sitting in someone's passenger seat, and my mind is somewhere else entirely. I could be singing along to a favorite song, or laughing about something the other person said, but I am completely disconnected. My mother told me that I was lucky he left when he did, but I just can't rationalize that. I miss sporadic road trips to New Haven, Northampton and somehow finding myself slumped on the subway in New York. I miss cold nights in Spanish Harlem, I miss sipping alcohol on rooftops, I miss parties with the most awkward people you will ever meet, I miss incredibly intelligent conversations over cups of bitter coffee, I miss my friends dying my hair in my tub, I miss cutting all their hair, I miss going to the beach in the middle of March, I miss just hearing you say such simple words that had the power to knock the wind right out of me, I miss watching episodes of Scrubs in your bed until 4 in the morning, I miss drawing shitty little charcoal portraits, I miss dancing to music in his kitchen, I miss crawling up next to you and falling asleep with my head on your chest, I miss waking up in your room with you still sleeping soundly, the feeling of being safe, I miss smoking on the hammock in your backyard, I miss our novels we used to type each other to keep in touch, I miss your cousin's mansion, I miss you carrying me through out the park on a perfect spring day, I miss our slang and hand gestures. I miss that anxious fit that used to fill the pits of my stomach and spread like wildfire throughout my body when ever the promise of being near you or talking to you was even a possibility.