“If trees had love, instead of leaves, I’d gladly rake you into a pile on my lawn and fall into you.”

“If green carpet grew on trees instead of leaves, I’d pick off a few cats—with my rifle.”

“I shake my head. I pick up the rake and start making the dead-leaf pile neater. A blister pops and stains the rake handle like a tear. Dad nods and walks to the Jeep, keys jangling in his fingers. A mockingbird lands on a low oak branch and scolds me. I rake the leaves out of my throat.Me: "Can you buy some seeds? Flower seeds?”

“I thought about how the past can become so small. An entire day, 24 separate, heavy hours, becomes the size of a tiny brown leaf falling from a tree. Before you know it, a whole year is just a pile of dead leaves on the ground. The year or so I’d spent in love with Chad was starting to feel so long ago, swept away by the wind. I knew that this year would soon feel far away too.”

“If you asked me to mow your lawn, I’d say sure—just as soon as you move your lawn directly above mine.”

“Do you love me?’ he asked instead. ‘Because if you don’t, I’d wait until you did. I’d wait weeks and months and years.”