"When l was 15 l wasn’t either, of course.” She picks up the coffee cup and takes a sip. “Kafka, what can you see outside?”
l look out the window behind her. “l see trees, the sky, and some clouds. Some birds on tree branches.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. Right?”
“But if you knew you might not be able to see it again tomorrow, everything would suddenly be special and precious, wouldn’t it?”
“I suppose so.”
“Have you thought about that?”
A surprised look comes over he. “When?”
“When I’m in love,” I tell her.
She smiles faintly, and it continues to hover around her lips. This puts me in mind of how refreshing water looks after someone’s sprinkled it in a tiny hollow outside on a summer day."