The last few weeks, it was as if someone had taken his life to pieces and let him see the way it worked.

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

Then she says, ‘I love you.’ Like three drops of blood falling onto snow.

I've always wanted to be a cat. Warm and domesticated when you want to be, wild when you don't.

I shrug him off. 'Can't you just go away?" There's a moment. It has a sound in it, as if something very small got broken.

Adam strokes my head, my face, he kisses my tears. We are blessed. Let them all go. The sound of a bird flying low across the garden. Then nothing. Nothing. A cloud passes. Nothing again. Light falls through the window, falls onto me, into me. Moments. All gathering towards this one.

Every seven years our bodies change, every cell. Every seven years, we disappear.