the other day Rob said that cars were a form of time travel. That they serve as this vessel of nostalgia, and all it takes is one whiff of the inside of a 90s japanese forgetmenot, this concoction of leatherique and soap and the slightest most effervescent tinge of fuel, and hearing the unique and unmistakeable sound of the door mechanics closing in place with the perfect tone, like church bells in a far away tower, and you’re back wherever you heard them first; Wherever that smell first clung to your clothes and your hair and you thought that everything around you was falling into place exactly like you’d always hoped it would. and you wondered how it could get better, how there would ever be more to possibly fill in the crevices of all the delicious moments that had come together already.
it got me thinking about the past and how sometimes, despite our intentionality to move forward and away from it, there are tendrils that continue to reach out, evergreen and curious. and how cars aren’t the only form of time travel, but literally any thing that mattered most to you way back then can be a ship to your past if you call it to port. It forms like fog on a thick morning, waiting for you to punch your ticket and get on, destination known. I can quite literally call these things to the front of my brain, build them into completely recognizable memories that feel so present, it’s as if I’m staring into a reflection pool of where I was 25 years ago; Standing in the memory ball, watching myself live it again. Experiencing living it for the first time.
and while i take my time sorting through these loud pangs of both grief and excitement of what could be again, it’s comforting to me to know that I keep good company in the meantime, and I don’t have to wander far to find joy in the present. But, there is more to come – i see it forming in the field in front of me, like a silky fog that may swallow me up.
The Wayfaring Friend 
💖