Driveway

You were never just a driveway. You were a stage, a runway, a finish line, and a starting block. You held more hellos and goodbyes than any diary ever could.

You were the place where friendships formed over handlebars, where tomorrows adventures were planned, between skids of bike tires and the thud of backpacks dropped lazily on the curb. You were where the lemonade stand folded at sunset, where the last wheelie always turned into the first skinned knee.

You were where our crushes came to say goodbye—just one more kiss before curfew, one last look before her dad's headlights rounded the corner. You were where grandparents waved from open windows, where we watched the taillights fade without realizing we'd never see them again.

You were where we learned that love sometimes leaves quietly.

You saw us practice our independence in plastic Big Wheels and later, first cars full of dreams, dirty laundry, and just enough gas to make it somewhere else.

You were a launchpad the day we packed it all up, meager belongings stuffed into the back seat, trying not to cry while pretending we weren't scared. You watched us say goodbye to the only house that ever knew our childhood. You heard the door close. Watched our parents hold back tears as we pulled away.

You stayed when we left.

And even now—years, decades later—we sometimes dream of pulling back in. Just for a moment. Just to see the porch light on. Just to hear the screen door creak open and smell dinner wafting out like nothing ever changed.

But it has. And you know that better than anyone.

The chalk drawings, the basketball games, the arguments, the reunions, the last hugs—you were the in-between, the liminal, the space between childhood and the rest of everything.

And though we've left you behind, in some way, you never left us. You're still there, in every rearview mirror, in every goodbye that starts with, "I'll just be a minute," and ends with the weight of something more.

This has been a love letter to a forgotten thing and to the loyal slab that watched us come and go until we didn't come back.