Love is not as messy a thing if there weren’t any non-loves. On that evening I caught your hands brushing my lower back and your elbows resting on my knees, on another occasion, fear overtook my body. The kind of fear one faces when at the edge of a train platform or building rooftops when one debates the possibilities and consequences of willingly jumping of or accidentally falling off. In this case, I didn’t know what it was. I just knew that a condition of possibility presented itself. And that a response was inevitable where both options lead to some amount of sustaining broken bones. Of course, that point was reached and where it was even possible to think of turning back time or disengaging from the logical unfolding of future events  was already breached. Only a dive would have closed this possibility. And that dive was really no more than a closure of an open sentence, to foreclosure the agony of wondering what could have been. But of course, experiences are never as simple, or as tempered as we would like them to be. So yes, this dive was not without another set of conditions pried open. As for encounters being loves and non-loves, well...