As many who know me could tell you, Dear Reader, I have a reputation as being bitter and callous about men. Only several months ago, I had all but given up. And to tell the truth, that was adequate. I would be solitary, mysterious, safe.

But then, this dude had to move next door to me. He wooed me with small things. Long talks about the North, where we both originated. Leftover pizza. A lingering smile. Small talk. Small advances.

And as I lay my head on my pillow, I listened for him on the other side of the thin wall. I wondered about this man. He invaded my mind. He seemed (dare I say?) competent, intelligent, confident. Not cocky. Gentle. Too good to be true.

We went out on day-trips. Later, I would discover he had thought I was gay throughout this period. So much for my 'mystery'. I guess I struck him as a dyke. And then, small little sacrifices wer made. Not the kind you're thinking of--the kind the Incas practiced. A little heartache, a little exposure. But the fact that I made that available to him let him see: I was home with him.

Now, he sits on the couch, waiting for me to get off the computer and give him some attention. And I tell you, it is the greatest, grandest thing to be loved by Michael. He is the portion of the sun that does not burn, only warm. He is the safety net that I never had. He is the one person in the world who does not tease me, hurt me, laugh at me, view me as strange. To him, I am normal. To me, he is extraordinary.

This is a true love story, with no Hollywood nonsense, no suspense, no mystery. It is pure, sometimes mundane, and most importantly, for real.