We drove towards a street light with gas and tension in the car. You claimed we needed to make a stop because you remembered how I get when I’m hungry. I resented you for that, being someone I didn’t know anymore, knowing everything about me, but you were right. We went with no expectation, no thoughts about how or where the pieces would fall apart, just knowing that there would be pieces, falling, and picking them up. I think we drove because we knew it was time to pick it all up. You remembered where my house was because you came all the way with no reminder from me, and I remembered that I love you because I let you back in. Now we’re in the middle, by a street light, in front of the ocean, surrounded by people; nowhere to be but between how we got here and where we’re going. But I think we drove because we knew it would all turn out the way we thought it would. I pray every night that it all turns out the way we said it would.