Don't you fall asleep too soon.

We cruise into the summer night sky, full of life and lightness and the good sort of tired.

The drive is easy and I stare out the window, notice the twinkling lights and listen as the music croons, ...And don't you fall asleep too soon.

And suddenly I'm sixteen--lanky-legged, frizzy-haired, insecure to boot. Not yet afraid to laugh a little too loud or be a little silly or dream an irrational dream.

Life was wide open and as the stars flashed by my window on the family road trip out West, it seemed oh-so-much bigger.

Yet for the first time, I could feel time's finicky finiteness and I wasn't sure whether to count down or hold on tight.

So I watched and wondered where would I go? And would I find love? And would I be okay?

And if I could whisper back to that wide-eyed girl, who wasn't sure yet who she was or what she wanted or why life seemed a bit harder to pin down lately, I think I would just play that same song, and crank the volume way, way up, and watch her furrowed brow crease while her eyes light up, then smile as she turns to playfully elbow her brother and ask her mom for more fruit snacks.