The sound of her laughter was sticky as sap, the smell of night-blooming jasmine soft as a milk bath.
like a kid kicked out of class. humiliated and free.
A clichรฉ is like a coin that has been handled too much. Once language has been overly handled, it no longer leaves a clear imprint.
We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental.
It's all I ever really wanted, that revelation. The possibility of fixed stars.
It's not that he was going nowhere, it's that he'd already arrived.