It's Finished. Everything Went Past, Without Me.

The Answers Were Maddeningly Absent—it Was Like Trying To Remember A Song That You Knew Made You Feel A Certain Way, Without A Title, Artist, Or Even A Few Bars To Bring It Back.

If I Had A View Like This To Look Down On Every Day, I Would Have The Energy And Inspiration To Conquer The World. The Trouble Is, When You Most Need Such A View, No One Gives It To You.

When The Clock Stops On A Life, All Things Emanating From It Become Precious, Finite, And Cordoned Off For Preservation. Each Aspect Of The Dead Person Is Removed From The Flux Of The Everyday, Which, Of Course, Is Where We Miss Him Most. The Quarantine Around Death Makes It Feel Unlucky And Wrong--a Freakish Incursion--and The Dead, Thus Quarantined, Come To Seem More Dead Than They Already Are.... Borrowing From The Dead Is A Way Of Keeping Them Engaged In Life's Daily Transactions--in Other Words, Alive.

The Sky Was Electric Blue Above The Trees But The Yard Felt Dark. Stephanie Went To The Edge Of The Lawn And Sat Her Forehead On Her Knees. The Grass And Soil Were Still Warm From The Day. She Wanted To Cry But She Couldn't. The Feeling Was Too Deep.

And For An Instant He Would Remember Naples: Sitting With Sasha In Her Tiny Room; The Jolt Of Surprise And Delight He'd Felt When The Sun Finally Dropped Into The Center Of Her Window And Was Captured Inside Her Circle Of Wire. Now He Turned To Her, Grinning. Her Hair And Face Were Aflame With Orange Light. "see," Sasha Muttered, Eyeing The Sun. "it's Mine.