Remember warm lines,
Lapping over the sunlight,
Mother’s hands disclose.
To Camille, there were two types of people: those who sat slovenly on the sunny side of the bench and those who squeezed under the shade of the tree.
Despite those around her see her crouching over her laptop with frowned forehead and bitten lower lip, she sometimes stops her focus on writing to wonder over e-commerce websites, filling up shopping carts she wouldn’t buy.
“Anything to add, Laura?”
Laura flinches and looks around at her colleagues, who pretend to be too busy with the papers they have been provided.
She points out at the corner of the room where the spiders have crept in, but their existence can’t be demonstrated any longer.
“Right,” is the one of the last words she will ever hear from Crane.
Thanks to The Devil’s Dictionary
Not without excitement, he had gotten closer to her face, as close he could distinguish the pink powder of make up applied to her cheekbone.
She woke up, her clothes drenched in sweat. She caressed her humid hair, it was all still there. She then rolled her hand on the side of her bed, on which she found none.
She started nodding at the song’s rhythm miming the crowd around her, despite finding herself not enjoying that music in any possible way.