I lay there for a moment, wondering when last night he had come in, and I realized that not only did I not know then, I hardly knew any other night. I thought I was losing my mind. How could I effortlessly remember every breathless, whispered, "I love you, Killian," count every hair on the back of his long fingers, name every freckle in the constellations on his stomach and yet not recall where he had said he was going last night? How could I visualize every scrawled figure of our first correspondence together, a note passed back in Dr. Hammer's sociology class, when I couldn't remember if he had even given me his cell phone number?