I feel such a tenderness for these vulnerable nighttime conversations, the way words take a different shape in the air when there's no light in the room.

His books are kept on freestanding shelves hung at different angles on a sea-green wall. They defy gravity, as good books should.

The world, right now, is only us.

I had forgotten this about love: how the simple things- the turn away, the turn towards- could be so complicated, and how the complicated things- the stolen night, the right words- could be so simple.

That's the question, isn't it?" you said one night. "Does death bring freedom, or is it the end of freedom?

And as we drift into sleep, I feel something I’ve never felt before. A closeness that isn’t merely physical. A connection that defies the fact that we’ve only just met. A sensation that can only come from the most euphoric of feelings: belonging.

I never felt the urge to jump off a bridge, but there are times I have wanted to jump out of my life, out of my skin.