I Held You In My Hands, Wanderer,

Kryptonite Doesn’t Bother Me, Either.

Out Of All The Things About Me That Could Frighten You, You Worry About My Driving.

How Old Are You?” She Asked. My Answer Was Automatic And Ingrained. “seventeen.” “and How Long Have You Been Seventeen?” I Tried Not To Smile At The Patronizing Tone. “a While,” I Admitted. “okay,” She Said, Abruptly Enthusiastic. She Smiled Up At Me.

Some Of The Memories Were Not Clear - -dim Human Memories, Seen Through Weak Eyes And Heard Through Weak Ears: The First Time I'd Seen His Face... The Way It Felt When He'd Held Me In The Meadow... The Sound Of His Voice Through The Darkness Of My Faltering Consciousness When He'd Save Me From James... His Face As He Waited Under A Canopy Of Flowers To Marry Me... Every Precious Moment On The Island... His Cold Hands Touching Our Baby Through My Skin.

He's Like A Drug For You, Bella." His Voice Was Still Gentle, Not At All Critical. "i See That You Can't Live Without Him Now. It's Too Late. But I Would Have Been Healthier For You. Not A Drug; I Would Have Been The Air, The Sun." The Corner Of My Mouth Turned Up In A Wistful Half-smile. "i Used To Think Of You That Way, You Know. Like The Sun. My Personal Sun. You Balanced Out The Clouds Nicely For Me." He Sighed. "the Clouds I Can Handle. But I Can't Fight With An Eclipse.