driving home from justin's apartment, the city is quiet. silent cars follow their own streaming headlights down night streets, and my heavy eyelids droop as i turn from 10th to walnut and make my way back to my side of town. i, too, am quiet; there is nobody to talk to, no one who could know exactly what makes this moment so precise, so memorable. i dreamed this, and now i'm living it so nonchalantly that every now and then all the stardust i forgot swirls up and i'm lost in how much this is exactly what i hoped it would be, at least so far. i forget the dream till it remembers me and drags me back to itself. driving home, i think of last year's fears. it's strange to realize that they have no power over me now. the faces i used to judge myself by are no longer around. there's a sense of warmth there, knowing that when i told myself not to worry, i was right. knowing that mistakes do eventually stop staring you in the face. it is a quiet night outside and inside, as cars silently move on toward their destinations, and i park my car, home.