Dylan found me in the garden before sunrise and said, “If this is all we get from here on out, I need you to know it’s enough.”
I turned toward him. The air was cool and the sky had only begun to pale. “You’re up early.”
“So are you.” He stopped beside me on the path. “I meant what I said.”
“I know.” I looked at the dark shapes of the trees. “I’m trying to believe it the same way you do.”
We started walking slowly. The grass left damp marks on our shoes. Neither of us spoke for a while.
“I used to think living meant more time,” he said. “More years. More plans. Now I think it means not wasting the days we still get.”
“That’s harder than it sounds,” I said. “My mind keeps jumping ahead to what happens if one of us declines faster than the other.”
“Mine does too.” He watched the groun
