Sometimes I can drive for miles without remembering it. Come to miles away with no memory of the miles that have passed. How much does the highway hold in transit that I will never get back? How many things have I missed while lost in those miles? I miss lots of things. You in the mirror making sure every strand is in place. One foot on the dash and one out the window; skimming the air like a flat stone on water. Reticent and reserved, or singing into your lighter like you belonged on stage. I miss your head in my lap while you sleep the long drive home. The way your laughter embodies all the innocence we shared. I just miss your smile. I wonder if those miles might have held one more. I wonder all this to realize, I don't remember driving all over again.