You think you’re ok, at peace, and then a memory hits you.

Last time you drove through Vegas, stopping in artificially glowing darkness only for fuel, Starbucks, and to switch drivers to finish the last leg of a half-cross-country-road-trip before midnight.

You honestly thought, and felt, that despite twists and turns, like driving those roads, you were working together towards something, when actually you were just part of a transition, even if neither of you knew it at the time. Or you want to believe that at least, in good, honest intentions.

Things didn’t work out, and there's no one to blame because everyone was honest, with themselves, with their feelings, with each other. And respectful. No wrong was done so there is nothing to forgive, nothing to ask forgiveness for.

And yet the feelings linger. The feelings not of loss, no those were months ago, but the feelings of what could have been. Not expectations, but hopes. Not imagined, but actively worked.

Then you exhale, inhale, and keep going with your yoga class, figuring no one will notice a tear or two streaming down your face mixing with your sweat.

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