It doesn’t hit him all at once, the way it should, like in the movies. It goes slowly and gains momentum. He doesn’t even think of it as love. It’s feeling his ears turn pink on the shell. It’s the middle of the night blinks that fade into green eyes. It’s that smell - like a baseball field tracked with fresh mud after it rains. He lets these ( Read more... )

Imagine the consequences of a different anatomy. Would you still run your hands through my bones? Strangers would not care for my face if it were skewed in some way; borrowed eyes or a smaller mouth. Would you still kiss me if a harvest reached my cheeks? Would you still remark on my scent, if it was not one you were used to? I imagine you would ( Read more... )

Listen to the windows speak. Their ledges call and beckon. With the snow and sprinkled rain and the dirt blown high up from the ground, where you can hear echoes. Footsteps. Walking and talking and voices and chiming. Listen. Listen to the windows speak. Their glass holds shadows. Spirited teeth gnashing the ears on your head. And you’re listening ( Read more... )