“I can’t even . . . form sentences. This, you and I, my being pushed beyond the personal hell I built for myself, has been good. I’ve felt more like a man in the past months, weeks, in the past days being with you, than I have in years. As though I can enjoy things without—guilt. Good isn’t even the right word to say for it. You’ve let me be the person I always wished I could be and, I . . .”
