You once asked me why I was here.
"I'm here because your hair is like red wood in sunlight." I replied with a smile. "I'm here because you know all the words to Bohemian Rhapsody. Because you still get mad when someone reads your diary, even if it was from when you were seven. Because you're not afraid to disagree with me. Because you hate Dickens but adore Hemmingway. Because you're a morning person. Because you go to graveyards and lay flowers on the graves of people you never knew."
"Do you love me?"
But didn't I just say that?