15: It’s your day of youth to throw out sight, trust, and now nimbus-wet pulse — I’ll never feel his perfect arms around me again. Never feel the air and my skin, or wake up in his sap, his secret warm bed, I’m done, I don’t get a chance to influence, comment, try again for anything, not even for something I’m not. I can’t do any better than what I’ve done for love of you.