It's a great thing for me, and perhaps my only secret: I love him too. I have to. What is between us is so thick - unforgettable - like that night at the lake. Me fish-like and then on the dock, hair dripping, him drawn down to the water, to me, afraid but still kissing me. How warm the world was that night.

Don't get me wrong. He is not tall. He is not broad. His eyes are strange. Then how? I couldn't help it.

And I can't help it still. It's not reality, though. I won't see him, because I'm too weak to resist. Even if I did, I know what would happen: First it would be magical, and then we would kiss, and then he would go crazy, and then I would feign being aloof, and then he would become desperate, and then I would have to leave.

So instead I have to learn to hold this inside of me, gently, like an ember I must keep with which to build a fire later. Let it sit there warm within me, reminding me that to him I am beautiful and spirited. That I cannot doubt myself, and that I am worth more than I think.