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The thing he loves most about her, he always says, is everything. Sometimes, it feels like the thing she loves most is that it feels like he’s saving her life.
Some days, I’m not sure of where the memory ends and the story begins. Where the story ends and the writing begins. It’s a Möbius strip. And yet, the more life, the more memories. The more memories, though, the less life. There’s a mathematical equation in there somewhere. Or maybe just a mortal truth.
