My imagination gets the better of me and I find love in my dreams. I picture a scene like this, two people meet in the library. They say don’t judge a book by its cover, but years later I can’t help but think that looks are the second thing I notice about you. No, it was the way everything was—the way your eyebrows raised when you finally noticed me, the way our fingers flipped the pages in rhythm, the way the air stood still to make room for just the two of us, in the library, on a Sunday afternoon. I don’t know how the scene ends. Maybe I want to keep it that way. Two people meet, and there will never be an ending. So I can flip to that page whenever I want and cherish the things that could have been.