The Lover’s Dictionary: A Love Story in 185 Definitions. David Levithan

didn’t say anything more, and I was grateful.

      cadence, n.

      I have never lived anywhere but New York or New England, but there are times when I’m talking to you and I hit a Southern vowel, or a word gets caught in a Southern truncation, and I know it’s because I’m swimming in your cadences, that you permeate my very language.

      cajole, v.

      I didn’t understand how someone from a completely land-locked state could be so terrified of sharks. Even in the aquarium, I had to do everything to get you to come close to the tank. Then, in the Natural History Museum, I couldn’t stay quiet any longer.

      “It’s not alive,” I said. “It can’t hurt you.”

      But you held back, and I was compelled to push you into the glass.

      What did it matter to me? Did I think that by making you rational about one thing, I could make you rational about everything?

      Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to save you from your fears.

      candid, adj.

      “Most times, when I’m having sex, I’d rather be reading.”

      This was, I admit, a strange thing to say on a second date. I guess I was just giving you warning.

      “Most times when I’m reading,” you said, “I’d rather be having sex.”

      canvas, n.

      We both missed our apartments, that first night, but I think you were the one who came closer to genuine regret. I’m sure if we could have afforded it, we would have kept both places. But instead, there we were, in three rooms of our own, which didn’t feel like our own, not yet. You wanted me to think you were asleep, but I caught you staring at the ceiling.

      “It will be different once we paint,” I promised. “It will be different when we put things on the walls.”

      catalyst, n.

      It surprised me — surprises me still — that you were the first one to say it.

      I was innocent, in a way, expecting those three words to appear boldface with music. But instead, it was such an ordinary moment: The movie was over, and I stood up to turn off the TV. A few minutes had passed from the end of the final credits, and we’d been sitting there on the couch, your legs over mine, the side of your hand touching the side of my hand. The video stopped and the screen turned blue. “I’ll get it,” I said, and was halfway to the television when you said, “I love you.”