I'm me and you're you, and all of them out there are them. And we're all so different and equally unimportant.

"I like you," he said. He made it sound as if she was bound to disagree with him. She nodded. His face said he was telling her something very important. He said, "I mean it. Whatever happens, you have to believe that."

I imagine horses in the engine, their manes flying, their breaths steaming, their nostrils flaring as they gallop.

I made a fatal error thinking he could save me.

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

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.

Her face crashes. She hasn't dealt with a single transfusion or lumbar puncture. She wasn't allowed near me for the bone-marrow transplant, but she could have been there for any number of diagnoses, and wasn't. Even her promises to visit more often have faded away with Christmas. It's her turn to taste some reality.