“Love is not a word we use. We feel it, we mean it, but we don’t say it. It feels so final, a declaration from which there is no easy return. I’m a thief. I know my exits. And I was a prisoner. I hate locked doors. But his eyes are so close, so eager. And it’s what I feel. Even though the words terrify me, they are the truth. Didn’t I say I would start telling the truth?”
