i barely know you, she says, voice heavy with sleep. i don't know your favorite color or how you like your coffee. what keeps you up at night or the lullabies that sing you to sleep. i don't know a thing about the first girl you loved, why you stopped loving her or why you still do. i don't know how many millions of cells you are made of and if they have any idea they are part of something so beautiful and unimaginably perfect.
i may not have a clue about any of these things but this-
she places her hand on his chest- this, i know.
-lang leav
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