Sam,' the girl said. 'Sam.' She was the past present and future. I wanted to answer , but I was broken.
It was mint and memories and the past and the future and she felt as if she’d done this before and already she longed to do it again.
It occurred to me that there was a story behind the scar -- maybe not as dramatic as the story of my wrists, but a story nonetheless -- and the fact that everyone had a story behind some mark on their inside or outside suddenly exhausted me, the gravity of all those untold pasts.
I laughed, loud enough that Delia looked up at me. She made motions for me to come over, but I pretended to be looking past her into the food tent. "Hurry. Pretend you're pointing something out so I can pretend not to see her." Luke put a hand on my shoulder and pointed with the other towards the sky. "Look, the moon." "That was the best you could come up with?" I demanded.
I'm fascinated about how past events shape our perception of current events and how they make us the people we are.
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