We should not have been on my couch, and the fire should not have been crackling orange, and it should not have been 5:37 in the morning. We should not have spoken; we should not have lost touch; we should not have met; we should not have loved in the first place. We should not have traveled miles apart, and we certainly should not have come back together. I should not have hated you and you should not have smiled anyway—we should not have been curious, we should not have fallen asleep that way, tucked into one another. We should not have lied, we should not have cheated, we should not have wondered, we should not have started.

But we were there, and so was the fire, and all of our should-nots and curiosities are useless now.