. . . I'm paying attention because I remember you, even though none of the things we're remembering feel possible. In that race in the desert, or with the books -- I just remember looking at you and thinking --

[ but he bites down the words before they've formed -- in part because there's no shape to them, no real sound.

at least his eyes are clear, holding steady. ]

It's not just some crush. At some point, you mattered to me. You still do. I just want to figure out where it came from.