The first time I fell in love with him was on a Sunday just like this one. It was when I saw him singing after the moon had gone, his voice torn and bloody and broken, shivering into the dust on his knees. My friends all say he's too thin, but I liked how the bones in his shoulder felt against my lips that time in the car when he hollowed his cheeks and pulled me across him and held me there until my breath was coming hard and fast through his teeth. I remember driving him home, how the rain made pictures in our heat on the windows. He said spiderwebs, I said wings. We are just like that.

My mom told me to come right home after the show, but I didn't. I found him and grabbed his wrists and he smiled and thanked me when I told him he had broken my heart. It made me love him even more, and I kissed his hair while we danced.

I only love him in secret, when I can watch the way the muscles in his neck move when he cries. That is what I like the very most about him- the way he hurts.