something, or give a little, it makes a tiny bit of difference. Maybe you just have to stay open. Keep trying. These things build up.” "You don't understand,” I snapped. "You don't know him! Maybe he really cares, but even if he does, it doesn't matter! Things always end up the same. If I mention emotions, or if I act warm to him, he'll ignore me for a while... and then he'll be cold to me again. I'm telling you, I've been here before, with Richard. It's a trap.” Mr. Ambition didn't waver. "If you're strong enough," he said simply, "then you can walk into a trap.” His words made my heart crack, my breath catch. Made me feel like I've forgotten everything I knew about love. When I was younger, I thought of my emotional strength like water: an embrace that could make someone I loved feel lighter. Water is a slow, eroding force that pulls beauty from the unexpected. Water makes wood into twisted driftwood sculptures; sharp glass into opaque dim jewels; rocks into soft sand. Water will eventually reveal the heart of everything it touches. If you let it. I hadn't thought of myself that way in a long time. I felt like Mr. Ambition was calling me out, reminding me of who I wanted to be. Maybe I protect myself better, these days. But vulnerability is not always a bad thing. I definitely could fall in love with this man, I realized. "You're really amazing," I said, and threw myself on his chest. He put his arms around me. "So are you," he said. ok As a storyteller, I often look back on my relationships and pick out foreshadowing: the omens. And by now, I recognize the omens even as they're happening... and sometimes I change my behavior, but usually I don't. Perhaps this state is what they call maturity. One night while we were out, Mr. Ambition sighed in an offhand way. He seemed tired, out of sorts. "I just want someone to take me on an emotional journey,” he remarked to me. Then he added, "... No offense.” I mentioned this to a friend, later: "Mr. Ambition says he wants