sometimes, my cousin and i map our time by the boys and the men we have loved, tracing our footsteps and trying to find some pattern where there doesn’t seem to be one. i myself have schizophrenia of the heart. i’ve fallen for big eyes, for kind smiles, for soft hair and for the smell of cigarettes and and sweat. i’ve fallen for the idea of love, for adoration, admiration and friendship disguised as a romance. i’ve fallen for talent, i’ve fallen for words, i’ve fallen for the butterflies that slammed around my insides when he looked at me through a camera lens and smiled. i’ve fallen for hands in my hair and shirts i could borrow and the way he laughed at all of my jokes. i’ve fallen for what was difficult, what was challenging, what made me stare at my phone for hours and what woke me up in the morning. i’ve fallen for the dismissive, the vain, the insecure, the strong, the sensible and the warm. when i didn’t fall, i pushed myself anyway. i pushed myself to give what i didn’t have to give, to take what was given to me even if i didn’t want it. pushed myself to forget my own needs, to see potential where there wasn’t any, to futilely light a fire without a spark even though bruce springsteen specifically said it couldn’t be done. the other night lillian found me on our patio in the darkness, writing in the glow of my laptop and listening to snippets of conversations drifting up from the street below. nora, she said. we’re on the edge of something big. i don’t know what it is, but we’re going to look back on this specific period in our lives and know it was a turning point. i think she’s right.