The first time you told me why you don’t talk to your parents we were in your car driving to nowhere at one in the morning. Your dad was angry and your mom was empty. Your hand was shaking and sweating in mine and if we were holding on any tighter our fingers would have broken. My heart was beating ***** and when you swerved the car to avoid a raccoon we came seconds away from hitting the truck that was coming at us. I couldn’t take my eyes off the silhouette of your face in the light of the moon. I watched the curve of your lips as you spoke of the pain of watching your mother fill her emptiness with gallons of *****, and I saw a single tear streak down your face, you refused to release my hand so it dropped onto your lap. We stopped at the base of a mountain and climbed through trees making our own trails until we reached the top. We ****** as the sun came up and I had never felt more at home than when you wrapped me in your arms.