I tell myself I like people who are “real,” unpolished, unpredictable. Mild Tourettes, ADHD and obsessive-compulsive disorder. Everything that I need in a lover.

He flinches. He repeats. He forgets. I forgive. Again and again. Love as repetition, love as tic, love as pulse.

I tell myself it’s tenderness I’m after, but really, I crave the hum of his disorder. His chaos matches mine.