Disbelief held me down inside my footsteps, making my body heavy but my heart wild.

Just be patient, she told herself, and with the mounting pages, the strength of her writing fist grew.

I look at her wish we could go inside and make love on the couch. Dive inside each other. Take each other. Make each other. Nothing happens, though.

And I stop listening to me, because to put it bluntly, I tire me.

It felt as though the whole globe was dressed in snow. Like it has pulled it on, the way you pull on a sweater. Next to the train line, footprints were sunken to their shins. Trees wore blankets of ice. As you may expect, someone has died.

I think she ate a salad and some soup. And loneliness. She ate that, too.

I s'pose, I can't have it all my own way, can I? You can't drown in a person unless they let you.