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She smelled lunacy in a wind that had not arrived.
That punched, gasping feeling was still there in his chest. The feeling that his heart was pumping air instead of blood.
and those tears, shed at seventeen, had been like these, burning, not wanting to come; it was more like bleeding than crying.
She touched his face and he winced back a little. That hurt more than anything else, hurt more than she would have believed.
But in high school the business of irrevocable choices began. Doors slipped shut with a faint locking click that was only heard clearly in the dreams of later years.
Already the dream seemed like a scene observed through the wrong end of a telescope.
