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 Emily 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, and that is all. It is just the way it is.

Or is it?

Enter Alessandra; enter Patrick. Patrick is a world class neurologist and Emily’s lover, and as he sits by Emily’s side day in day out trying to find a way through the labyrinth of her damaged memory, he tells her of his life. It is the only life Emily knows, and as Patrick’s past unfolds Emily creates an imagined bond with each family member, his fa-ther, his brother, and especially the extraordinary and deeply spiritual Alessan-dra, Patrick’s mother. The disease that has taken Emily’s memory will eventually take her life, and Patrick, as talented as he is, cannot save her. No one can save Emily except, perhaps, Alessandra.

Alessandra, who can speak to the river, summon the sun, and redirect the moon with the tips of her fingers.