But it does. I want to know. I always want to be the person who knows the most about him. That’s always been the one thing I’ve had with him that no other woman can claim. I might not know his body. I might not have memorized all his tattoos. But I know his heart. I’m intimately familiar with all the pieces of it he’s given to me over the years. But they aren’t enough. I want the rest of it too.
