Sometimes I think that love is one big fairy tale. I wonder if people who say they are in love, if – really – they’ve just talked themselves into it. They want it so badly, they kind of make it happen. They fake it until they start believing their own story. Maybe that’s just sour grapes or something. Maybe because it doesn’t happen to me, I don’t want to think it happens to anyone else.

The problem for me is that I can't ever really see who Gregory is, any more than I can see what a mirror by itself looks like, because he reflects whoever's around him.

Don't worry," I repiled, "I usually don't argue with the voices.

It's been my experience," he continued, "that when you're with the right people, you feel more like yourself than ever. There's a happiness, and a feeling of coming alive to yourself and the other person, that's like nothing else.

I took a step back. "Here." He plunked his wet hat on my head. "Don't go anywhere," he told me, then turned away.

Was he still, somehow, watching over her?

He leaned over her, the sun behind his head making a halo of gold, his face lit by the reflections off the water.