She Saw Herself Moving Through

She Had Died At Age Twelve, And By Now She Was Nothing But The Memory Of Love-- Nothing, Now, But Bones.

...and The Distance Between Them, Millimeters Only, The Space Of A Breath, Opened Up And Deepened, Became A Cavern At Whose Edge He Stood.

There Was Something Not Quite Right About Her Eagerness, An Eerie Kind Of Voyeurism In Her Need For Bad News.

They Turned A Distracted Gaze On The World, Wide-eyed, Somehow, And Questioning.

It's Good To Be In Love.