“Will we ever take a walk by the moonlight, or spend an afternoon making jam or making . . .” Love. My body turns to fire just thinking about it. “I had dreams about you,” she whispers. “We were together—” “It wasn’t a dream.” I pull her close. It kills me that she doesn’t remember. I wish she could. I wish she could hold on to that day the way I do. “I was there, and you were there. And it was a perfect slice of time. It won’t always be like this.” I say it like I believe it.
