As I looked over some older photos, I came across this photo I took of Creighton on a vacation.  I love the movement of his arm, because it reminds me of the feeling of hurtling through the countryside, slipping from one state to the next.  Prior to settling into this room, we had wandered the streets of Chicago looking for a restaurant to be open (who knew all restaurants were closed on Memorial Day), and finally found a Chipotle.

In the crowded train station, our different approaches to a problem stood out.  We were looking for our waiting room and the people swirling around us were stressing me out.  I took off in one direction, wanting to find where we were going.  Creighton chooses to stay still in these moments, scanning the station for what he is looking for.  He is methodical and considerate, while I, the bull in the china shop, jump straight in to the mess to figure it out as I go.  I have a lot to learn from him.

I wish we could go back to this tiny closet, where we sipped hot coffee and listened to Night Vale episodes in the dark, where we laughed about the toilet and the awkwardness of staring at the other person while using it, where we cut through the backyards of all sorts of humans, wondering what it must be like to live in these tiny pieces of our country.

The past three years have hurtled past us, and I'm not sure I could recognize myself if I met her on the street.  We are shells of former selfs, filling up with new and old, good and bad, and trying to sort out what to do with it all.