Now we were drifting, believing there had to be a reason for all that was happening, and all that was not happening so that something else could.
Maybe we were ready to forge our own path, one that no one but us had travelled this way.
He sings that song for us. He looks at me. I look at my hands. I look at the ground. I look at his eyes. His eyes are blue and he doesn't blink and the side of his head is shaved and his ears are pierced.