“There was no fear.”
When I was alive, I dreamed of flying.
Or maybe I should say: When I was alive, I dreamed.
Sometimes it was flying; more often it was falling. Or burning—trying to scream, trying to run, but frozen and silent and consumed by flames. I dreamed of being alone. Of my face melting or my teeth falling out.
I dreamed of Walker, his body tangled up in mine. Sometimes I dreamed I was
Walker, that my hands were his hands, my fingers the ones massaging soft, smooth skin, getting caught in long strands of blond hair. Awake, people talk about becoming...