On our first date I told you that, at best, I consider myself agnostic. I don’t believe in god, but I wouldn’t mind being proven wrong. The candle on our table flickered and I thought about holding your hand, but I didn’t know if you wanted me too. I looked into your eyes and saw the glowing golden light of the candle reflected back at me. I thought about kissing you, but I didn’t because I didn’t know if you’d want me to. Then, amid the candlelight and the Coronas, it came up that you wanted to live in an apartment with bookshelves wall to wall. Without thinking, I clasped my hands to my chest and exclaimed, “Me too!” as if it meant something, as if it was a sign – as if the small fact that you wanted one thing that I wanted meant that maybe you could want me, that maybe we could want and have something together.