Tin Man

by Sarah Winman

I said to him that just because you can’t remember doesn’t mean the past isn’t out there.

All those precious moments are still there somewhere.

I lit a cigarette and looked at the sky. An airplane cast out a vivid orange wake that ripped across the violet wash. And I remember thinking, how cruel it was that our plans were out there somewhere. Another version of our future, out there somewhere, in perpetual orbit.