“I’m going after her. Not because she’s mine but because I’m hers. Because she knew that even before I knew it myself. After she’s gone, I lunge for those papers that she let go in the slight wind. I pick them up from the street, wrinkled and almost torn, and fold them up, reverently, before pocketing them.”

“I’m going after her. Not because she’s mine but because I’m hers. Because she knew that even before I knew it myself. After she’s gone, I lunge for those papers that she let go in the slight wind. I pick them up from the street, wrinkled and almost torn, and fold them up, reverently, before pocketing them.”

— Saffron A. Kent