You never understood that intimacy doesn’t come from sex. You shared more of yourself with me in our conversations than you ever did physically, and you let me share myself too. You told me about the girl who broke your heart and changed you, about your fear of becoming like your father and the night you decided you never wanted to, about that bad habit that you finally kicked because you never want to hurt your mother like all the other men in her life have. You showed me pieces of yourself that I know others rarely see. We shared stories of our various experiences with drugs, and you told me about that night that you cried tripping all alone because there was no one there to hold you. I remembered when I did the same thing, on my bathroom floor for three hours. I swear you had a tear welling up lying there in my arms. I told you about my stupid tattoo that I always lie about, and I remember you shrinking away every time I touched that one on your arm that you hate. Then there was that night when we explored each other. When we went to sleep I swore I knew the curves of your body and the taste of your skin like we had been together for years. I can still feel your lips on that spot you like on my left thigh. You told me that I calmed you down, and I hope you kept that with you. A little bit of Zen will do wonders in that big city of yours. I know you learned a little because when we went to that museum after it was all over and you rushed through it all, I saw you pause for a minute to take in the essence of that Van Gogh. It was the one that I like with the windmills, the Moulin de la Galette. I saw the fear in your face the first time we were naked together and watched it slowly disappear with every kiss. Whether you intended to or not you told me about all those insecurities and the reasons why you overcompensate with sex. I know that your wild nights aren’t really as meaningless as they seem to everyone else, and that connection is what you are really looking for. Our intimacy didn’t come in a little gift-wrapped box labeled sex, and it didn’t come from that bond that some couples form falling in love over the years. It was short, it was passionate, it was deep, and it was life affirming. We didn’t fall in love, but those moments in each other’s eyes may as well have been. I understood why you couldn’t commit despite the excuses you tried to make. Your fear of intimacy can’t be hidden from someone you are intimate with. I know you were afraid, but you felt it anyway. And even though it’s passed we will always have those moments. Those nights. Those experiences. They belong to the two of us, exclusively.