When he leaned against the wall, arm spread across, head rested on the forearm, panting, sighing, crying;

when he kissed her for the first time, hands held, lips meeting in an infinitesimal space of time that passed, a sparrow, a patch quickly torn, breathing, sighing, smiling;

when he fell into the void, arms flailing, voice cracking, eyes searching, searching, screaming, sighing, dying;

he let go of his heart; he let go of his soul; he gave it away; and breathed in bone dry quicksilver, coughing, hacking, sinfully stopping the beat, the grave a mile away, a mile beneath his feet; he let go. He fell. He gave.

With that, Kip Pilgrim had lost his begierd; had given it; had let it fall. Each moment was frozen; crystals in the cabinet; there, there, here, here; forever.