No, really. I free you.' I don't want to be free.

We make patterns, we share moments. Sometimes, I think I'm the only one to see it.

It's as if a child with a brush and too much enthusiasm has been set free with a tin of black paint inside me.

Should we say something?’ Cal asks. ‘Goodbye, bird?’ I suggest. He nods. ‘Goodbye, bird. Thank you for coming. And good luck.

I didn't understand that when you make love, you actually do MAKE love. Stir things. Affect each other. The breath that escapes from me is dazzled. He breathes it in with a gasp.

Every breath, every heartbeat, was one less until maybe things stopped hurting this much.

Moments. All gathering towards this one.