So sure, in these moments, that if he ever tried to leave me, I wouldn’t let him. Undignified, the scene I’d make. Not too proud to beg. I’d wrap myself around his legs the way I used to hang from my father’s when I was a child and he would come to visit—remembering the way he used to play along, swinging me from his boot with each heavy stride. I wanted us to be like rocks or anchors, keeping each other in place. Love, I’d read, was supposed to be a light and weightless feeling, but I had always longed for gravity.
