when I thought about Ben, about his disheveled hair, his timid smile and soft voice, a heartstring pulled so taut in my chest it almost broke, and it hurt. Because I thought I could— I thought I could love him. Cautious and organized and stoic as he was. Just as he was. He didn’t need to fit into a perfect place in my life. He just . . . needed to be. He existed. And the rest of my world made room. He was right in the end. Romance wasn’t dead, after all.
