He was brother to a liar and brother to an angel, son of a dream and son of a dreamer.

But by blood, no wolf am I

You’re my change of skin / my summer-winter-fall / I spring to follow you / this loss is beautiful.

It was the perfect moment to tell her. This is my last year. But I couldn’t say it. Not yet. I wanted another minute, another hour, another night of pretending this wasn’t the end.

I was losing sight of the wolf ahead of me; the one inside me seemed closer all of a sudden.

It was as if I had thought all along I was a complete picture and he had revealed I was a puzzle and had taken me apart and put me back together again.

And then I did laugh, even though the future was a dangerous place, because I loved her, and she loved me, and the world was beautiful.