“Why don’t you read?” She was genuinely facinated. Needing to read — the itch to fall deeply, bottomlessly, endlessly, into another world — was the same feeling as wanting to kiss somebody.
“I don’t know,” he said. “I should.”
She smiled, confused.
You see Tarspen Elia’s eyes first. They are bright and afraid.
The wind whips red dust into your face. You brush it away restlessly. Your cheeks are hot; the air is sticky. You can feel your heart pumping through your skin.
Only her forehead and the tip of her nose is above the lip of the cliff at first. And her hands: bloodless knuckles, and fingers gripping deep and desperate into the warm dirt like claws. Continue reading
into the river,
letting the water lick
of current run along her skin.
she rests her face on the surface,
then she realises she is
so she allows her body to float
to the blinding