“Do you love me?” he whispered.

It was always his whisper that got me.

Stroll back in time with me.  I’m newly seventeen and it’s late – probably eleven at night – and I know that I should go to sleep because I have school tomorrow and a Math test to take and a Psychology presentation on projection to do, but I can’t make myself utter any kinds of words that might end this conversation.  My bedroom is completely dark.  The only lights are from the periodic cars that pass down my suburban street and I can sometimes hear tires hissing through the snow that always begins to fall around the time of my birthday.