as I get older I think — can it really be love if we don’t talk that much, don’t see each other? Isn’t love something that happens between people who spend time together and know each other’s faults and take care of each other? Still, by the time I’ve had my share of boyfriends, I discover that even the ones I truly love never bring on the same kind of feeling that I get when I think about him. In the end, I decide that the mark we’ve left on each other is the color and shape of love. That’s the unfinished business between us. Because love, love is never finished.