“Fall?” he repeated. “Say more like flying, as if someone threw you. What  .  .  . was that?” I chewed on my words before I let them out. “I  .  .  . sometimes have little disagreements with  .  .  . um, with reality. And physics.”

“The psychiatrist wants to know why I go out and hike around in the forests and watch the birds and collect butterflies. I'll show you my collection some day.""Good.""They want to know what I do with my time. I tell them that sometimes I just sit and think. But I won't tell them what. I've got them running. And sometimes, I tell them, I like to put my head back, like this, and let the rain fall in my mouth. It tastes just like wine. Have you ever tried it?”

“I love you."You imagine hearing the words from someone related not related to you, someone not your best friend, but when someone you love, you dream about, actually says them, it makes your body melt and your breath get caught in your chest."You love me?" I asked, leaning toward him.He nodded. "Say it again" I said. I let my knee bump against his."I love you," he repeated.”

“Yes. Da,' I corrected.'Say it again.''What?"'His voice grew husky as he repeated his request. 'Say yes—in Russian—again.'I blushed. 'Da,' I whispered. 'Will you teach me more Russian, Pietr?''Mmm, only the important words,' he promised.I bit back my request for the three most important words to me. 'What words would you teach me?''Pocelujte menyah.''What's that mean?'He groaned. 'Repeat it tonight and perhaps I will show you.”

“I can’t stand this, Pigeon. I feel like I’m going crazy.”I threw out my hands and let them hit my thighs. “You can’t stand what?”“If you sleep with him, I don’t wanna know about it. I’ll go to prison for a long time if I find out he...just don’t tell me.”

“He is remembering," I say."Remembering what?""It's a word I use for praying. Sometimes it's like waiting for music to come out of the silence.”