I told her that this is what making love to her had meant to me: not that she knew me from inside my head and that being known this way was precisely what I found so arousing every time I thought of our bodies together, but that when we stared at each other in the way she wanted and had taught me to want, she and I were one life, one voice, one big, timeless something broken up into two meaningless parts called people. Two trees grafted into each other by nature, by longing, by time itself.
