A tendril wind licks the fuzz just behind your ear. It’s often like that. One light touch and the whole confusion begins anew. You learn to identify that first kiss. And when you feel it, like the end of April, you learn to expect the impossible. Like from behind the very next tree your lover, or a homicide, will step. Or you’re about to come into a packet of pharmaceutical opium. Or just another six months on D ward.
But it’s a welcome change. ‘Cos invariably you’ve been sunk dangerously long in a reality of killing pain. And for over a month, your molars have been tighter than the grip of a vise. And you need to break out.