I do not like the way tears dry on your face, how they weigh down your eyelids and make your whole body feel as if you are full of sand. We used to play a game like that, as children. A girl would lie down on the floor and close her eyes, and one would massage her temples while another began telling a story about the sandman. When the story was over, the girl supposedly felt that all her limbs were somehow heavier and more difficult to lift. It was all probably psychology, but it fascinated us just the same. We cared too much, protected each other too fiercely, even though we played such games to scare one another.
Nowadays it is a crime to care for someone. Who was it that said humanity practices violence in public but must hide to make love? They couldn’t have been more right, and I hate us for that.