Dear Marcus,
I still have the transit card you gave me. One ride left. Never used it.
That was the weekend I was supposed to leave. The job offer was good money, good benefits. Real step up from the night desk.
But the Friday before, Elena came home with her cap and gown. She tried it on in my living room.
She spun around and I saw how much she needed me to stay.
I called you that night. Said I couldn't go. You said I was making a mistake.
Maybe. But I watched her walk across that stage last spring.
The transit card's still in the glovebox. One ride left. Sometimes that's enough.
I'm still here. Still at the night desk. But I'm not a stranger to myself anymore.