Green Light—Lorde

We drove down I5, Sydney’s blonde hair pouring out the window and into the night sky. But honey, I’ll be seeing you down every road I’m waiting for it, that green light, I want it Spilled from my stereo, coating the air with an intoxicating sense of comfort. It was eleven and a school night, but no one cared enough to tell us what to do. The end of junior year was like that, enough freedom to feel alone but not enough to quench the craving for more. Her hands wrapped tightly around a red Gatorade and pack of neon sour worms as she complained about gymnastics and other things I didn’t quite understand as well as she did. But not knowing was the beauty of nights like those, nights where we took turns picking streets until we became hopelessly lost in a town we could navigate as effortlessly as we breathed. There was comfort in being both unsure and safe simultaneously, like suddenly there were no more risks to take, no more wrong turns—or at least none that mattered.