Maybe if she thought that she and Ephram had a shot. Maybe, if she thought for one second, that their star-crossed, Shakespearian love story might hold water, maybe then she would risk herself. But not this way. Amy was a safe girl. She did things the way things should be done, she followed the instructions, she read the manual, she looked before she leaped. Ephram did none of these things, and it worked for him. Amy had a clear path that seemed to be leading her into just the right places. Ephram did not; he was making it up as it went along. She noticed that he fell down and hit dead ends a lot more than she did, and it frightened her. But at the same time, she had never known the highs that Ephram could know, the beautiful emotional extremes that he could touch and dig into and embody; the passion of his love, his hate, his spontaneous anger, spontaneous happiness ... the spontaneity of his life was art to her eyes. The idea of that kind of life, that kind of trial and error, seemed lonely, and rather dangerous, but lovely and filling at the same time. But only in dreams could she ignore the risks. Losing ties to her family; losing her true love; losing her self-respect. Not only that, but Ephram was a crazy, uncontrollable roller coaster of emotion, and she had to agree with her dad when he said that Ephram wasn't completely stable. She was afraid of where Ephram, left in free range, might sweep her off to.
But then there were his eyes. Something lonely and lovely in the dark curls of color in his eyes begged her to think it over. She came up with the same thing, of course. He was so dark and marvelous; his skin was so pale and clear, and there was such a sadness there that it was captivating, a kind of sadness that made you want to feed it, to hold some connection to it. It was a kind of sadness that made you believe that sadness could make you feel *more*, understand more. And if this was true, than Ephram was the wisest, most understanding creature in the world, and perhaps she loved him.
But then there were his eyes. Something lonely and lovely in the dark curls of color in his eyes begged her to think it over. She came up with the same thing, of course. He was so dark and marvelous; his skin was so pale and clear, and there was such a sadness there that it was captivating, a kind of sadness that made you want to feed it, to hold some connection to it. It was a kind of sadness that made you believe that sadness could make you feel *more*, understand more. And if this was true, than Ephram was the wisest, most understanding creature in the world, and perhaps she loved him.