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We are on the downside now, your arm still nestling my shoulders, your fingers running through my hair. The teenagers are quiet, the little boy still sobbing. We can see the old man's arm, purple veins on the blue back, holding the woman's thin, graying hair. Running his figners through it softly as the car sways back. I imagine that she is smiling up at him. I imaging that she is thinking only of the sun on her face, the years of fingers through her hair.I begin to believe that this is all she thought of when she said yes.

You look at me. You'll want an answer soon, I know it. I want more time to think about it. I want to think about everything.

This is everything to worry about. What about mortgages, jobs, insurance? You don't want kids either, you told me. Your career is important too, you said. We'd make this work. A partnership. A team. We could do this, you said. But then, you said we could do everything.

I turn to you now to ask if you still think this. And why you think this. But you are looking at the mountains, your head turned slightly from me. I look at your long brown hair tied neatly behind your neck and think about stroking it.

I think about the Chinese and how ten thousand things could contain everything. Could represent everything--one thing, 9,999 things, the world.

Maybe our lives will work this way too--one day, 9,999 days, forever.