It Wasn't Right. He Knew That, But

...and The Distance Between Them, Millimeters Only, The Space Of A Breath, Opened Up And Deepened, Became A Cavern At Whose Edge He Stood.

A Moment Was Not A Single Moment At All, But Rather An Infinite Number Of Different Moments, Depending On Who Was Seeing Things And How.

In Some Deep Place In Her Heart, Caroline Had Kept Alive The Silly Romantic Notion That Somehow David Henry Had Once Known Her As No One Else Ever Could. But It Was Not True. He Had Never Even Glimpsed Her.

Grief, It Seemed, Was A Physical Place.

He Fished In His Pocket For His Keys And Instead Pulled Out The Last Geode, Gray And Smooth, Earth-shaped. He Held It, Warming In His Palm, Thinking Of All Mysteries The World Contained: Layers Of Stone, Concealed Beneath The Flesh Of Earth And Grass; These Dull Rocks, With Their Glimmering Hidden Hearts.