"Excuse me. Can she steer the wheel so that I can push the van?" A driver said to us, his van dead by the roadside. It's an empty street and no other passersby available. We could be his last resort. I was a little insulted. Do I look like a feeble woman unworthy to be a car pusher? I instantly walked to the rear of the car to start push, as if to prove my herculean strength. My friend and I pushed and pushed and pushed. The van moved slowly towards a parking lot-- it used to be a busy store here, now quite deserted due to the virus scare. I thought about you your muscles hidden underneath your shirt and suit what will you look like if you were here to push the car with me. If I had let things take the natural courses, you and I would love, love more, love less, and eventually hate each other. It would be a short lived relationship, and I would move on. Yet it didn't happen that way. I end up thinking about you, always.