It’s been one of those days.
The kind where you wake up and everything is the same - it’s always the same. You go through your morning routines, rituals that you could probably do in your sleep by now. You move about, flying on autopilot.
But you don’t know what lies ahead. All it takes is one song.
It sneaks up on you while you sit in traffic. Waiting, like all the other sheep, to be herded to their desks.
It startles you at first. Your eyes flicker from the road to your stereo suddenly playing this familiar song.
And then it’s all over -- its got you now.
When the song ends, you play it again. And again. Over and over. Remembering, reminiscing. You’re on a roller coaster of emotions - You’re happy, you’re sad, you’re nostalgic. You wonder how the fuck you got to be here, sitting in traffic like everyone else, and not in the back of a car with your friends listening to this song.
You start to think about people you have no business thinking about. The ones who merely passed through. The ones who stayed. The ones who used to mean everything to you, made you feel something, and how many of them make you feel nothing now.
It doesn’t really matter though, everyone seems like a stranger now.
Even though I graduated from FSU two years ago, I’m still painfully nostalgic about college - Sometimes I forgot there are other lifetimes to be nostalgic about.
A lifetime in which I still lived “back home,” playing high school sports and counting the days until prom or homecoming. A lifetime spent worrying about if I'd be the last of my friends lose my virginity. The lifetime before college happened.
That lifetime - Sometimes I forget that I lived through that.
These songs are for you. For us.
They’re for anyone who ever rode in the back of a Honda Accord with me, or was the passenger of that Accord while I drove it with reckless abandon.
They’re for the ones who sat four and five to a back seat, bumpin’ to the bass with half an 18 pack of shitty beer in the trunk.
For those of us who said fuck last period and went to the beach instead, catching waves and getting sunburnt and doing donuts in the sand because #YOLO.
For us little punks who thought we were so cool.
For all of us who lived for the weekends in the hope there was a kegger somewhere, driving around town with nothing to do, looking for nothin’ but trouble.
They’re for any of us who’ve ever made out in the back of a car or fooled around where we weren’t supposed to be.
For those of us who tried, without success, to act sober after stumbling in at 3 a.m.
They’re here to remind us about the endless shows we went to, high on nothing but adrenaline and surfing atop crowds of people. Screaming out every syllable of every word of every song. Pushing and shoving one another in mosh pits of the smallest, smelliest, sweatiest of venues.
These are for all of us who eventually went our separate ways -- and we all did. But I know we all remember, too.
These are for old friends who’ve faded into the background, but will never disappear. For all of us, just kids, singing along to acoustic guitars, beers held way up high, promising to remember nights like these.
These are for you. For us.
+ a million more of these. They span a lifetime.