I worry. I worry for the people I love, I worry for myself sometimes. When I'm with her sometimes it slips away, but with you it feels sharp. I sometimes don't know when you're joking, and I know you've been knocked a little bit askew. Tonight you hugged me for the first time, and the air was freezing, and when I realized you were holding me past the perfunctory goodbye, when I felt your arm tighten and your pup pulling on the leash because he was growing impatient, I didn't worry for you in that moment, and that was something.