I immediately suspected there was much more to it than was being said.

So what else can I tell you?" I asked. "I mean, to get you to reveal Lily to me.

I know it was more than that. But it was also less than that, too.

You make it a production. Slam doors. Knock things over. Scream. But I just leave. Even if I'm still standing there, I leave. I am refusing you. I am denying you. I am an adjective that is quickly turning into a noun.

But I still has enough longing for that concept that I didn't want to dispel it completely. Meaning: I didn't want to tell Lily that I felt we'd all been duped by Plato and the idea of a soul mate. Just in case it turned out that she was mine.

There is no word for the recipient of the love. There is only a word for the giver. There is the assumption that lovers come in pairs.

You spend so much time, so much effort, trying to hold yourself together. And then everything falls apart anyway.