I was walking to see you," I told her, "I’ve come to your house each of the last six days. For some reason I needed to see you again." She was silent, I had made a fool of myself, there’s nothing wrong with not understanding yourself and she started laughing, laughing harder than I’d ever felt anyone laugh, the laughter brought on tears, and the tears brought on more tears, and then I started laughing out of the most deep and complete shame, "I was walking to you," I said again, as if to push my nose into my own shit, "because I wanted to see you again," she laughed and laughed. "That explains it," she said when she was able to speak. "It?" "That explains why, each of the last six days, you weren’t at your house." We stopped laughing, I took the world into me, rearranged it, and sent it back out as a question: "Do you like me?