Bez watches me from the pillow next to mine, all freckles and burgundy hair and lips which taste like a cool autumn night. There is a stray eyelash on her cheek, and I wet my finger with the tip of my tongue before touching it against her skin. The eyelash comes away with my finger. I hold it up in front of her and say, “Make a wish.”
“I wish nothing would change,” she says. “Not ever.” She blows gently and the eyelash raises up like a bird and disappears into the darkness of the room.
“There’s nothing outside of this moment,” I say. “We’re bubbles in a piece of amber. We’ll never grow old and we’ll never die.”
She laughs softly. “You sound like Wilford Brimley in Cocoon.”
“Flattery,” I say, “will get you everywhere.”