Squeak1993

"You have a stone in your heart," That rouses me somewhat. I look up from my book and out the window at the gray fog that's settled over everything like wet cotton. I imagine breathing it, letting it fill my lungs with gray. All at once, the room is suffocating and I push the window open and the cool air tumbles in and ruffles the pages of my book so that I lose my place. The spell of the story unravels and some part of me aches to know that the sort of love that exists in the storybooks is never true. She loves the lines of him. Her. "Are you listening?" "… Yes," I say without much conviction. Rainwater pools on the windowsill.