“Do you believe in it?” he asks. “I want to. The notion of someone who understands me—protects me—knows my heart well is—beautiful. I hope it’s true.” And I mean it. I wonder if there will ever be a human alive who knows my heart, passions, secrets, and demons through and through. But I stare a moment too long, and there’s a question that sings like a violin between us. The one neither of us wants to acknowledge, but it’s here, all the same, waiting to be noticed.
