Fuegos
jueves, febrero 21, 2008
"He shuffles and moves in closer, his skin sharp with cold, igniting that lingening instinct to warm what's next to you. It's almost as though we could drop this whole pretense of so many years, wiggle into one another, make sweat-happy teenage love. Instead I slide the sole of a foot onto his icy calf"
Robyn Joy Leff, Burn your maps
Etiquetas: The Authors Studio
2 Comments:
commented by 
Anónimo, febrero 22, 2008 7:47 a. m.
Anónimo, febrero 22, 2008 7:47 a. m.
Era una línea directa a tu inconsciente, panita.
Qué bueno que tuvo el efecto que tenía que tener.
Abrazo.
Qué bueno que tuvo el efecto que tenía que tener.
Abrazo.
Qué bien que The Atlantic se anotó en una de modernidad y abrió sus archivos. Si no, probablemente no tendríamos con quién comentar "picking up pieces of Mongolia", o "Does he have a nine-year-old son on whom he experiments?", o "but that doesn't mean you might not find yourself lost and speechless where the lines fall away and the mountains blur and the silence feels better than years and years of conversation."