You say: yes. And you let this dream go on spinning, trying not to believe in it too much. But believing in it anyway, wholeheartedly. You cannot stop, you cannot stop this wild hope. It feels reckless. It feels good.

— Rachel May, “At St. Christopher’s, Part 2”

Sometimes a person touches me and I question everything I thought I knew about him. His hands were so tender. Through his fingertips I could feel the effort, the thought flowing down from his head through his skin. Could feel but not decipher. How can two people experience one another in such radically different ways?

— Emerging