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.

he is both the source of my happiness and the one i want to share it with.

With all due respect, if you’re forty-three, then I’m a fetus.

I cannot think of a single word to describe what we feel. I think we all feel it, to varying degrees. Perhaps in some other language there is a word for 'the world is terribly wrong.' That feeling of stun and unbelief and abandonment and shock and horror and distress.

I felt like I was missing something. Missing you more. Missing whatever was going to happen next.

That's what the voices in your head are for, to get you through the silent parts.

Even when I detach, I care. You can be separate from a thing and still care about it. If I wanted to detach completely, I would move my body away. I would stop the conversation midsentence. I would leave the bed. Instead, I hover over it for a second. I glance off in another direction. But I always glance back at you.