But finding proof of his existence meant I had to ask myself a harder question: if he was real, but he was gone, had I dreamt our relationship? Had I invented what we were to each other? The magic that I had felt when he’d picked me up and kissed me on the dance floor the first night we met, “The Edge of Heaven” our soundtrack, was that one-sided? Did Max make everyone feel like that? Was he an illusionist? Was this a show-stopping, spangled deception he could perform on anyone? The love I’d felt, the details of him I’d studied like an academic, the future I’d tentatively begun to think
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