In approximately 3 hours, he'll arrive. And I'll stand in the parking lot holding his hands in the sunshine like there's a question I forgot to ask and the only language I have now is skin. Like fingers on the shell of him might render the concept of love into something seen. Knowable. No imaginary faith. Or the way clocks tick something like time. He quit his job. Packed everything that could fit of his life into the car. Left everything and everyone he knows. And drove 1500 miles. To be with me. Only--to be with me.

Soon. We'll both be home.