I love you. I love you. I send this message through my fingers and into his, up his arm and into his heart. Hear me. I love you. And I'm sorry to leave you.

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

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

We make patterns, we share moments.

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.

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.

She'd never in her whole life bunked school, smoked dope, or kissed a boy whose name she didn't know, and yet in the last few days, she'd done all these things.