An hour or two went by. It must have been a good conversation because the next thing..he knew [she] had told him to close his eyes. Then she kissed him. Her kiss was a question he wanted to spend his whole life answering. His felt his body shaking. He was scared he was about to lose control of his muscles... For anyone else it was one thing - but for this man it wasn't so easy, because this man believed - and had done for as long as he could remember- that part of him was made of glass. He imagined a wrong move in which he..fell and..shattered in front of her. He pulled away even though he didn't want to. He smiled apologetically at [her] feet, hoping she'd understand. They talked for hours.
He ran his fingers down her spine, over her thin blouse, and for a moment, forgot the danger he was in. But before he knew it, he was shaking violently. He seized his muscles to try and stop. {She} felt his hesitation. She leaned back and looked at him with something like hurt, and he almost but didn't say two sentences he'd been meaning to say for years: Part of me is made of glass, and also,..I love you.
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