Fuck. My body responds before my mind, my heart hammering quick and my memories whirring like a merry-go-round, bringing up half-forgotten feelings. Feelings of magic and mystery and more-ness, as if this girl holds inside her a larger universe than the one I live in, as if she speaks a language I only hear in dreams I pretend I don’t dream. She reminds me of the way I used to be. Before. Before Lizzy died. Before I rejected all the stupid and naïve things that had kept our family oblivious to the truth and her pain. Before I made my own idol of money and ambition and $1500 neckties. Fuck.
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