It was morning and i woke to the sound of turning pages. The shades of the window were drawn open and a hand's width of light was shining into the dark room. I lay twisted in blankets and pillows and it was still early but she was awake and sat reading in a chair by the window.
Her brown hair was pulled back and tied with a band but it was long and draped down over one soft shoulder. She wore sweatpants and a loose sweater, unzipped towards the neck and her feet were bare despite the cold.
I turned and watched her but she didn't look up. She was reading and the book was held in the path of light from the open drapes. It came through the pane and over the smooth bare skin of her shoulder where the sweater draped low and askew. From her shoulder it shone across the book and brightened the white pages, then trailed across the end of the bed.
She was reading Thomas Merton and I smiled as she frowned slightly and her brows knitted. I watched her ponder glory and love and the mysteries of contemplation, all thigns that seemed so fruitless considering that all her questions about things eternal would soon be answered in full.
10 years ago
2 comments:
Me again, bro. The tone is this short piece is different from the rest. Not better or worse, but definitely different. Maybe cynical is a good word. The only concern I have in this is in your repetition of the word shoulder. I am sure your vocab is strong enough to elucidate more powerfully that what's here. I like everything except shoulder, shoulder, shoulder.
Good point. Thanks for the red pen. That was a hard scene to write because that part of the song was so vivid, but difficult to elaborate on. It definitely needs work
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