“I don’t want you to see me, Beck. You’ll never look at me the same, and I can’t lose you. I can’t.” I stare at him, struggling to work out what he means. Everything in his head is attached to everything else in a tangled web. My head is full of boxes–I open one, take out a single thought, hold it for a while, then pack it away. Sometimes I go for a whole day without opening any boxes. “But I see you all the time. I love seeing you.”
