watch him for a few seconds. “I love you,” I tell him. “Do you know that?” He stares straight ahead, nodding two, three, four times. “Yep.” He looks over at me. “Not how I love you, unfortunately.” “I did once,” I remind him, I don’t know why. He nods again, thinking about it. “Not how you love him though.” He puts his hand on my knee, squeezes it once. There’s a finality to it. Like we’re closing the chapter, finally, on what we used to be. How many loves, I wonder again?
