It was so big, that view. I’ll never remember it properly. How can anyone remember something that big? I don’t think people’s brains are designed for memories like that. They’re designed for things like phone numbers, or the color of someone’s hair. Not hugeness.

It was like I existed in a kind of parallel universe, thinking thoughts and feelings that no one else understood.

Far, far away something made a single ghostly howl, like a banshee in the dark.

Lets face it, you did steal me. But you saved my life too. And somewhere in the middle, you showed me a place so different and beautiful, I can never get it out of my mind. And I can't get you out of there either. You're stuck in my brain like my own blood vessels.

How long will you keep me?" I asked. You shrugged. "Forever, of course.

You nodded towards the cup. "Want more?" I shook my head. "What about the car?" "Didn't find it. You were heading back towards me when I found you." "Towards . . . ?" You nodded. "So I reckoned the car had probably got stuck or died somehow, and you were just coming home." "Home?" "Yeah." Your mouth twitched. "Back to me.

You told me once of the plants that lie dormant through the drought, that wait, half-dead, deep in the earth. The plants that wait for the rain. You said they'd wait for years, if they had to; that they'd almost kill themselves before they grew again. But as soon as those first drops of water fall, those plants begin to stretch and spread their roots. They travel up through the soil and sand to reach the surface. There's a chance for them again.