We had founded Eden of our own, our haven for corrupted innocence, around a well of joyous tears with which we anointed each other. Of secrets where nothing but our memory alone could gain access, not even God. I remember, how i kicked the trunk of a sycamore tree to release rain from its foliage and shower over us, how her face split open into a wild smile then—all teeth and gum—in surprise and ecstatic wonder, mirroring my own maybe. That smile, all of this, a memory that is now solely my own, explodes into millions of pixels, and I'm rent in all directions. I feel so dizzy I can hardly lie...
