I used to love to watch him drive. Something about handing over the keys to my Jeep and settling in to the passenger seat, the chance to study his profile unabashedly, made me  deeply, profoundly content. I dove into those moments when they came, absorbing their flavor and texture, memorizing every contour, because I knew they would be fleeting, and few. I was right.

He was a serious, careful driver, obeying all posted traffic laws and never getting angry when people cut him off. I’m more of a boundary-pusher, myself–I never met a speed limit I didn’t exceed by ten miles per hour–but I loved the look of concentration on his face when he changed lanes. Sometimes I’d have to look out my own window to hide my unaccountable smile.

(Source: thoughtcatalog.com)