Staccato.

7

'Yet you won't remember anything during the day.' And she put her hands back over the lamp, her features darkened by a bitter cloud. 'You're the only man who doesn't remember anything of what he's dreamed after he wakes up.'

Like the times we spent together were a dream, I was pretty sure Cheikh had forgotten all of them. He has more important things to think of, anyway.

"Eyes of a blue dog," I murmured, he couldn't hear me, because I was a few yards away and I couldn't even hear myself. "What will you remember me by? I've dreamed of you, but have you ever dreamt of me?"

And he walked past me, carrying the bag of rice on his shoulders, and when he looked at me, it felt like he was looking at me for the first time. But he smiled, and I realized it was I, who was looking at him for the first time. Because I never looked at him as one of the starving kids, I looked at him the way a blonde girl would look at a boy she loved.

But today, I did.

And it felt like dying.