don’t pray, Sebastian,” I blurt out, needing to say something, to lay some part of myself bare to him as a means of reciprocation for his vulnerability. “I don’t pray, but on the rare occasion I find myself in conversation with God, I talk to him about you. Even before we were us, I spoke your name to Him, submitted it to the heavens at the top of a list of the few things in this world I’m thankful for. I don’t believe or trust in anything, but I trust you. I believe in you. And I know that maybe that’s not enough—” my voice shakes and all my words disappear.
