[ (He has loved her for a long time. It was an unavoidable fact, he supposes, like Life of Pi or something like that, except he has always had the option of leaving and she has never once tried to hurt him — not in the way a tiger would, at least. He's loved her since he was young and brash and skinny as a lamppost and he loves her now he's old and filled out into his frame. But he's never once done a thing about it, because if there's anything that their travels have taught him, it's about the nature of inevitability and her nature, too. So he loves her the way someone loves a plant or a painting — with all their heart, but with no expectations of reciprocation or even necessarily acknowledgment.) ]

Lemme fix the statement, then, [ he says, with a half-smile. ] I don't think you're the one that's heavy. I'm not carryin' your weight.

[ A beat. ]

Better?