These were the moments when it occurred to me most plainly just how different Elio and I were. We looked alike, of course, but he was such an artist in every possible way, where I was not. My mind was too stuck, too rigid, to be an artist, to create the way Elio did and I grinned at him as I shut the door against the chill.

"Hi," I answered. "I'm interrupting you, aren't I?"

He would never tell me to leave, but I still felt a little guilty at disrupting his creativity.