The world is speaking to you every day, you just don't know how to listen.

There were so many levels to the unknown, from safe to dangerous to outright nebulous, scariest of all.

I don't know," I said. "Maybe you're right, and all that stuff I think I missed is overrated. Why should I even bother? What's the point really?" He thought for a moment. "Who says there has to be a point?" he asked. "Or a reason. Maybe it's just something you have to do." He moved down to start bagging while I just stood there, letting this sink in. Just something you have to do. No excuse or rationale necessary. I kind of like that.

But against love, the case was solid. Easily argued. And you could, indeed, hold it in your hand.

During this time we've been apart, it's you I've thought of when I'm at my weakest, and you who have pulled me through.

I didn't want to talk about what happened, so it seemed safest not to talk at all.

I drove off, with my friends watching me go, all of them grouped on Lissa's hood. As I pulled onto the road, I glanced into the rearview and saw them: they were waving, hands moving through the air, their voices loud, calling out after me. The square of that mirror was like a frame, holding this picture of them saying good-bye, pushing me forward, before shifting gently out of sight, inch by fluid inch, as I turned away.