i remember sitting in a beaten up car outside an all night diner
we were seventeen and eating fries off a paper plate on the hood
maya had been back from the hospital for only six days
her hands were still shaking when she reached for the ketchup
we had a cassette playing through one working speaker in the passenger door
it was an old soul track with a bassline so heavy it rattled the rusted frame
maya started screaming the lyrics into the dark
she put both fists in the air and threw her head back against the seat
she was laughing until she couldn't catch her breath
i looked at the fresh red marks on her forearm she tried to hide under a long sleeve
i didn't say any grand speech about staying alive
i just reached over and turned the volume knob all the way to the right
we stayed in that parking lot under the neon lights until four in the morning
watching the rain wash the dirt off the windshield
last night maya called me on the phone while her infant daughter was sleeping in her lap
she whispered so she wouldn't wake her up
she told me she has her nose and her bad habit of kicking off the blankets
she said she never knew a person could feel this much light inside a small house
and i sat on my kitchen floor in the dark listening to her breathe
i pressed the phone against my ear so hard my jaw hurt
i wept until my chest felt empty in the good way
because some nights the music is loud enough
—lyra moon (somewhere tonight a teenager is turning the volume up and doesn't know yet that this is also a way of choosing)
august 1, 2026