God, Arthur.” He kisses me. “Te quiero. Estoy enamorado. You don’t even know.” And I don’t speak a word of Spanish, but when I look at his face, I get it.

He tells me to pick the music. I’m not sure if he knows that handing me his iPod is like handing me the window to his soul.

Imagine going about your day knowing someone’s carrying you in their mind. That has to be the best part of being in love- the feeling of having a home in some else’s brain.

I believe in love at first sight. Fate, the universe, all of it. But not how you’re thinking. I don’t mean it in the 'our souls were split and you’re my other half forever and ever' sort of way. I just think you’re mean to meet some people. I think the universe nudges them into your path. Even on random Monday afternoons in July. Even at the post office.

But I’m tired of coming out. All I ever do is come out. I try not to change, but I keep changing, in all these tiny ways. I get a girlfriend. I have a beer. And every freaking time, I have to reintroduce myself to the universe all over again.

And the rain makes a kind of curtain, which is probably for the best. Because all of a sudden, I'm leaning over the gear stick, and my hands are on his shoulders, and I'm trying to keep breathing.

I mean, here's the thing I don't get. How do people come to expect that their crushes will be reciprocated? Like, how does that get to be your default assumption.

More than like it. I crave it. Because there's nausea and fog, but there's also this: an unshakable feeling that something wonderful is about to happen. That's the part I can't explain. No matter how unlikely, I always have a secret shred of hope. And as feelings go, that's a pretty addictive one.

I HAVE TO MEET HIM. I don’t think I can keep this up. I don’t care if it ruins everything. I’m this close to making out with my laptop screen.