Wednesday, May 20, 2009

her hair smells of sunshine and dust

is this what love is, he wonders, this substance that lies so pressingly between them, so neutral in colour yet so palpable it need never be mentioned? or is love something less, something slippery and odorless, a transparent gas riding through the world on the back of a breeze, or else - and this is what he more and more believes - just a word trying to remember another word. 
-the stone diaries, by carol sheilds

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