If she was broken, she would slash him with her jagged edges, reckless as a drunkard with a shattered bottle.
To see the years touch ye gives me joy", he whispered, "for it means that ye live.
It's a good country for myths. Things seem to take root here.
There aren't any answers, only choices
While ye sleep in my arms, I can say things to ye that would be daft and silly waking, and your dreams will know the truth of them.
It wasn't a thing I had consciously missed, but having it now reminded me of the joy of it; that drowsy intimacy in which a man's body is accessible to you as your own, the strange shapes and textures of it like a sudden extension of your own limbs.