Haphazardly I loved her. Almost by accident I fell into a pool of passionate phrases, that would later fuel my aversion to cliches and anything that could possibly extend into monotony. I am well aware that this chaotic love was the best we could do; it was all I knew of girls (women, friends, companions). As for a lover, I knew to be tender when that was necessary and to be tough and closed off at most other times. I learned how to love a man in the way he wished to be loved, and found very little of myself inside those years. When she arrived, panic-stricken, at the edge of my life I knew something she did not. And that knowledge may have translated into control, but I was always adamantly in denial, always claiming how little I knew about loving someone.