What Has Passed

Just the other day, I glanced out my window while driving down Route 10. I saw a group of 3 or 4 preteen boys walking, laughing, smiling. They seemed to be enjoying each others' presence, like friends do. While it was unusual to see children walking along a busy road, this thought didn't fully cross my mind. The sun was setting. It was hot, but driving with the windows open welcomed a breeze, cool enough for easy inhales, and even easier exhales. After seeing these boys, a strange feeling of nostalgia came over me. It was both a longing for the past and an acceptance of what has passed. I will never be 13 years old with my friends again. I will never again be able to enjoy the freedom of a middle school summer, one that offers childhood on the brink of adulthood, being able to dream of a grown up life while still having the time to admire it. I'll never be a kid again. Or a teenager, for that matter. But I can glance out my car window and understand what it feels like to be one. More importantly, I know what it feels like to look back and acknowledge a growth. As I looked back at the road ahead, I blinked away tears tempted to fill my eyes and continued to where I was headed.