on highways that you cried on.

Skies dimming into greys and purples and pinks over lines on the road-- a view that brings awe and glee and makes you glad you’re alive.

Bright twinkle lights as darkness sets in and the car moves forward-- a different type of beauty, but still holds onto you.

Crying on highways has become a habit of mine. I used to cry handling long-distance love poorly, as I let tears roll down to over-dramatic country songs up highway 75.

Then came jobs and commutes and long days learning how to be a good teacher while simultaneously learning to be myself. Then came Christmas with those same commutes and tears for Christmas stories. More years and more commutes and all different stories and songs.

Crying on highways has become a habit of force.

But now I cry at a lot of things.

Those sunsets from before. Wind blowing through the car window onto my face. A hard day. A really good day. A killer song from the 70’s. The freaking beauty of full circles and all the grace of a good God in a broken world.

Highways are the perfect place to hold your tears of joy and sorrow. They stretch out in front of you lined with yellow and possibility. I love them. I love them surrounded by trees and mountains and less when surrounded by big buildings, but I guess there is beauty for some people in those kinds of highways too.

Sometimes I like to think about all the highways that will hold me in the future, that I will drive down day after day and lay the memories of a day or week or year out as the wheels turn quickly.

I’m excited for the highways that are yet to be held, and thankful for the one’s that have made up the years that I’ve lived.

Yellow lines and melting skies-- thanks for holding all the good and bad kinds of tears and days and lives.