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How could you say that you fell in love because of the way her neck is shaped, or the way the muscles in his arm move when he bends his fingers? How could you know someone just by the shape of the backs of their ears or the bend of their elbow? I do not know the answer, I confess. I only know you can.

Is it the tilt of her head he so admires? The shape of her neck? The slope of her shoulder? The way her hair curls out like a whisper? A portrait without a face can be almost unbearably intimate, like a moment of accidental voyeurism. You’re left with a memory like an imprint and a vague, pleasant curiosity that you know will never be satisfied.

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