Just two boys singing into a half-empty bottle of Jack, heads bent together as they try to belt out the words through their laughter, and I think— This. Right here. Right fucking now. This is why I’m here. Waylon’s bright green-gold eyes find mine. His dimples are on full display as we grin big stupid grins, and sing our way through the bridge of my favorite Rolling Stones song. This is what I came back for. Not for answers. Not for closure. I came back to remember what it was like to be happy. To be whole.
