I used to think everything in life was a choice, but love was never a choice for me. Novo arrived, dark and unfathomable in that beginning, like looking over the pier at night and not knowing how far down the water is. And still, somehow I knew him. I knew who he was without even trying, and even though that’s impossible, even though I shouldn’t believe it, that right there is my truth. I could have told you straightaway that Novo wasn’t born like the rest of us, but forged in some mythical foundry out of horses and squid ink and velvet and sail rope and butter and gold. And here he was, contained in that body like a genie in a bottle, looking the lesser flesh-and-blood mortal that was me straight in the eye. A shot glass, a cold blast, a breath of fresh whatever. Novo, Novo, Novo, the perfect name for the one who still wakes up time after time, brand spanking new.

In the end, I could have watched him all day. I could have spent my whole life doing it, gladly, you know? Watching him do the ordinary things that he gilded just by doing them. Novo making a cup of Lapsang tea with honey so that it was the only color, the only level of sweetness and smoke that a cup of tea should ever be, and I could never imagine drinking anything else. His fierce frown, and the way his mouth opened ever so slightly when he thought of something to say, while that something was his still, and he hadn’t given it up yet. He was so definite about everything, so purposeful, so sure. God. His way of holding a glass. Or a knife. Or a pen. I am mad jealous of the things Novo touches now. I envy the air his hands move through when he’s telling a story. Wherever he may be.

Here are three words that don’t even begin to cover it: I miss him. But then I missed him from the moment we met, because even before it started I knew it would have to end. I was certain of that, without having to ask. Just like life, how we all know we’re going to die at some point, but we go ahead and feel the thing anyway, and do our best to make something of it before it runs out, so it’s not for nothing.

Until we find ourselves at another beginning. Another Now.

That first day on the beach, when it had only just begun and was still already on its way to being over. That’s what started it. A roller coaster right at the start—no time for second thoughts, locked in, holding on, paid up for the ride—and quick when you look back. So quick you want to do it all again.

I remember.

“Hello Now.”