“This,” he said, running his fingers down my dress, “is perception. It’s what my eyes see. But this,” he pressed his hand to the center of my chest, just above the bust line of the dress, “is reality. I much prefer this. This,” he said, pushing again, “this is what my soul sees.”

“This,” he said, running his fingers down my dress, “is perception. It’s what my eyes see. But this,” he pressed his hand to the center of my chest, just above the bust line of the dress, “is reality. I much prefer this. This,” he said, pushing again, “this is what my soul sees.”

— Whitney Barbetti