He hoped he would be brave enough to stop by this evening, after work, but the incident with the motorcycle still makes him shake. So close. Almost, so close, God. If he hadn’t stopped in time, that kid on the bike, like you—
He won’t let himself think about it.
The sun dips down, painting the sky a vivid red yellow orange like the leaves still clinging stubbornly to the dying trees. He lies on his bed and watches the shadows lengthen, surrounded by you. He tells himself one day this won’t hurt so bad anymore, and that bothers him. He likes the pain, poignant and deep. He still plays the answering machine tapes he’s saved with your voice recorded onto them. He forces himself to watch home videos—you by the pool, laughing at him to join you in the water, the two of you on vacation in the
