In a moment, when I'm ready, I will turn off this computer and that will be it. This letter will be finished. A part of me doesn't want to stop writing to you, but I need to. For both of us.

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

There were tiny stars behind my eyelids, a whole galaxy of tiny, spinning stars.

I craved your warmth. I hugged myself, rubbing my fingers up and down. I guess people are like insects sometimes, drawn to heat, A kind of infra-red longing.

You looked at me, your eyes huge. You we're like a dog then, waiting for me to throw you a bone . . . waiting for something I could never give you.

I remember that feeling of skin. It's strange to remember touch more than thought. But my fingers still tingle with it.

It was like I’d stepped out into an afterlife. Only there were no angels.