A few times, I woke up and it was pitch black outside except for the car’s headlights and the falling snow against the window, and when I looked beside me, he, too, resembled a ghost, cast in the dark gray of night, and yet I wasn’t scared, half dreaming, half awake; he was preciously familiar, like a memory come alive, and it felt in that moving car, for those moments, like we were entirely alone on the road and in the world, wherever we were, that there was nothing outside but the dark and the snow, and to simply watch him, driving, rubbing his eyes, yawning, I was calm and inexplicably
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