Each Time
Each time where he walks, the world is slightly different. Fields burst into bloom. We were lying on the hill outside Springfield, the one with all the little blue flowers. It was just the two of us, and the sky was very blue. There were some clouds above us, and the sun hit them in a way that they lit gold, instead of white. We didn’t talk or move for what felt like forever, and at some point I wondered if we were dead. I thought, If neither of us coughs, or sneezes, or moves to scratch an itch at the bottom of our feet in ten more minutes, it will mean we’re dead. He lifted up his head...
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