In the last carriage, I find a boy sitting alone and gazing out the window. We both say nothing and watch the last few trains pull away from the station.

'You can't outrun death,' I think to myself.

Outside, the sky is falling. Meteorites glare white, still burning up in what's left of Earth's atmosphere, before hitting the ocean and sinking into its depths. Trails of pearly dust are left behind in their wake. The boy's face is illuminated by...

The house smells like bread after baking, and my hands hold its scent---of orange peels, butter, and sugar.

You show me how to whisk the butter without losing the lightness. 

You teach me the phrase "light as sunlight" without even meaning to.

We dance, hand in hand, to Tchaikovsky with all the tenderness in the world. 

Our hearts are opened doorways, spilling out all the love we can bear.