As always, one of her books was next to her.
They'd been standing like that for thirty seconds of forever.
Things always seem to glide away. They come to you, stay a moment, then leave again.
It is early, early morning. It's that time when it's still dark but you know the day is coming. Blue is bleeding through black. Stars are dying.
Can a wolfe be beautiful?
The pages and the words are my world, spread out before your eyes and for your hand to touch. Vaguely, I can see you face looking down into me, as I look back. Do you see my eyes?