Www.ifeelmyself.com

By minute eight, she was crying. Not sad tears. Recognition tears.

"www.ifeelmyself.com is not a website," the text read. "It is an address you return to. There is no bookmark. You have to type it in every time. Goodbye, Elara." www.ifeelmyself.com

"Now, your forearm. The place where you scratched your skin raw during finals week in college. Forgive it." By minute eight, she was crying

But she did it. She traced the bone beneath her hoodie. The camera on the website zoomed in, not voyeuristically, but reverently, like a nature documentary observing a rare bird. By minute eight