Everything I see and touch reminds me of him, and so everything I see and touch is perfect.

Two weeks until your cure" she says finally. "Sixteen days" I say, but in my head I'm counting: Seven days. Seven days until I'm free and away from all these people and their sliding superficial lives brushing past one another gliding, gliding, gliding from life to death. For them there's hardly a change between the two.

Because?' I prompt 'Because I'm sorry, but I can't help it, and I really need to kiss you right now.

I wonder whether she was sorry for leaving us behind.

I’m sorry for everything.” Then he turns and pushes back into the woods, and he’s gone.

How is it possible, I think, to change so much and not be able to change anything at all?

only when it rains. and sometimes, too, when i remember.