I could stand up and go to her and kiss her. I could. But there is still too much to be ruined.

So we gave up. I'd finally had enough of chasing after a ghost who did not want to be seen. We'd failed, maybe, but some mysteries aren't meant to be solved.

You may choose your song, but know this: Tiny. Cooper. Hates. Over. The. Rainbow.

But it was only hot outside, and generally I only walked outside between one air-conditioned place to another.

It was an indulgence, learning last words. Other people had chocolate; I had dying declarations.

I always had this idea that you should never give up a happy middle in the hopes of a happy ending, because there is no such thing as a happy ending. Do you know what I mean? There is so much to lose.

You could hear the wind in the leaves, and on that wind traveled the screams of the kids on the playground in the distance, the little kids figuring out how to be alive, how to navigate a world that was not built for them by navigating a playground that was. . . Who am I to say that these things might not be forever? Who is Pete Van Houten to assert as fact the conjecture that our labor is temporary? All I know of heaven and all I know of death is in this park: an elegant universe in ceaseless motion, teeming with ruined ruins and screaming children.