They say that the path we take leads us where we need to go, that each moment and person is part of the journey that leads us in the right direction. But, sometimes, and only sometimes, I wonder if that direction is wrong. I’ve never believed in fate or predestination or “God”. I don’t think that our paths are cut out for us or that we have no control. I think that when we hop in our car at 1 a.m. on a Thursday and drive two hours south to knock on a man’s door just to see if the words match the man we change the story. Sometimes, at 2 a.m. when the house is quiet my mind wanders. I question if the pictures on the wall, and my fifteen plants and two cats are enough, or if somewhere along the way I made a misstep. Or if I’m just looking back and questioning to put it all into perspective.
He stared at her for a moment, studying the lines of her face, the way her eyes said she was lovely and timeless, yet also old and wise. ‘I don’t understand what you could find in a person, you shouldn’t have been able to find in yourself,’ he responded, drawing the words out slowly.
She laughed a little, the kind of laugh that echoes a little in your memories, ‘He was smart and strong, not just of body but of character. He liked adventure and books and wasn’t afraid. I was afraid. I was always afraid.” She paused and looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers together like she was knitting them, ‘And I needed him to show me that I too was those things, that I could climb a tree and laugh like a child. Or that I could lay in bed all day with a book and let my imagination wander. I found all the things I loved about myself, because he loved me.’"