Mid-20s. Tall, stocky, Mediterranean complexion, long dark hair pulled back into a ponytail, and dark eyes. Colorful, expensive silk shirts and a thin gold chain bracelet.

He is dressed as a pirate the day we meet, with a bandana on his head and a gold hoop dangling in one ear. He throws his head back when he laughs, and always chooses the perfect wine for a meal. He knows when I am lying, to myself best of all. He leaves from time to time and travels the globe, finding work as it comes in romantic, fantastical places. We drink expensive tequila and listen to heavy Chicago blues and tip the bartenders outrageously for whimsical reasons. I am his confidant and his conspirator and I love him deeper and truer than all the others.

And he loves me as well. "Just like a sister," he says, the night I confess.