I wasn’t sure about the pajamas that you wore to bed the first time we spent the night together. I didn’t like the ways you tried too hard to be the kind of woman you thought I would be attracted to. With all the inconsistencies in the world surrounding us, the last thing I need in my personal life is someone whos’ chief concern in life is how to be adorably idiosyncratic. It’s not your fault. You have learned from a handful of experiences with others of my gender that you need to keep us interested. You have to be so fraught with complexity as to compete with the Internet, the other quirk-obsessed girls, and you have to make us feel that by our being with you, we are current. With your past experiences, it is no wonder we didn’t work our first time. But you kept coming back to me like a tape that kept being unedited little by little until you unspooled in front of me and I saw you in the live, raw and I was dazzled. It is dazzling to meet anyone today who still has the capacity to be real. To be themselves, idiosyncratic to what culture and societies demand them to be. There are still things I don’t like about you. But at least I know they are a part of you and not part of a contrived identity. I’m sure there are things you don’t like about me. Should we be getting married? I don’t know. Is this what love is? I don’t know. But I am used to you. If I lost even the smallest things I dislike about you, I would be bereft. Maybe this is what love is, being used to each other. I know that the real me is used to the real you and wants to be with the real you for as long as I live because I would rather be unhappy with you than happy with anyone else.