“I don’t know if I hate it here or if I hate that I don’t love it. I was supposed to love it. But I want to go—I think about it every day, just getting on the bike and going, and going, but where?” He wasn’t crying, but he quickly rubbed the back of his hand against one eye. “Anyhow, so I can’t blame you that you lied to yourself about dreaming Bryde. ’Cause I made this fake version of me, right, and I was wide awake when I did it. We’re both liars. I don’t know what to do. I miss …” He closed his eyes. “I miss knowing where I was going.”
