In the past, some people exist in pictures, some in words. I smile as among the photos I catch a glimpse of the black-haired, black-eyed boy who came as close as was possible, after you, to breaking my heart. He is best remembered as a visual: his smile, unbuttoned shirt, his tan. His words, pretty as they were, dissolved like the smoke rings he blew around them.
-Joanna Barnard
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