I was going to ask him, yes I was. “You remember Blackberry Night?”

The torches were alive with yellow butterfly-flames. “I can’t forget it.” His eyes were whiter than white.

“You remember the thing we might have done that night, but it turned out to be a thing we didn’t do?” It was late and my tongue had gone bleary. “The thing you stopped us from doing?”

“I especially can’t forget that.”

I was asking about lust, wasn’t I? I was fairly certain of it. But isn’t love supposed to come before lust? It does in the dictionary.

Autore: Franny Billingsley