We are in the front seats of your mustard yellow Subaru. This used to be your father's car when he was a college student in the 70's. It's strange how timing, location, and decisions changes everything. If your mother would have never left Savannah for Berkeley, or if your father would have left Berkeley for Kansas State, it would still be 11:45 on a Friday night but we would not be here. But here we are, in the Starbucks parking lot, my head leaning on your shoulder, your hand resting on my knee. "I'm glad I didn't die before I met you," I whisper. "I could go anywhere with you and I'd probably be happy," you respond as First Day of My Life fades into the background, luring our eyes to close. Sitting in these front seats, in the future looking back, I know that this is where I belong, they belonged, you belong, we belong.