Emily is dying. It is that thing in her head. Worse, she cannot remember her past, and can retain only fragments of the present. It feels as if she has never existed.
She is tucked up tight, holding her breath, suspended in time.
"I am not my body," she often says, meaning she feels as if she is more than that; that we are more than just flesh and bone. But she knows, too, that reality has an awkward way of intruding into what one might hope for, and that her impending death is inevitable. In the end, she is her body and a broken one at that. It is just the way it is.
Or is it?
Enter Alessandra. Enter Patrick. Patrick, a world class neurologist and Emily's lover. Alessandra, who can speak to the river, summon the sun, and redirect the moon with the tips of her fingers.
