Your scent, Jo. It’s like wool and bread and something else. I don’t know. A scent like if laughter had a scent, or daybreak. You filled the whole car with a yellow light like daybreak. I swear it felt like light pouring into my veins.

It wasn’t just the heat of the moment. Ask me for anything. The answer is yes.

I don't know what was in my head before I met you. What did I even think about? Because whatever it was, it's not in there anymore. It's gone. I am completely, one hundred percent all the time filled up with you.

Like that time you were half-asleep and rolled with your shoulder in my larynx and said, “Can you breathe?” And I couldn’t really but didn’t need to either, because air seemed unnecessary with all that happiness in my chest.

It’s an amazing phenomenon: Every time I reread your letter that says “Ask me for anything,” I find there is nothing more I need or want.

...it looks like this whole earth was just reborn into an entirely new universe full of possibilities.