I just want your voice aimed at me again. I want to absorb the direction of your eyes…

He couldn’t imagine using the word ‘rewarding’ about a work of art – for instance that such and such a book has given me so much, taught me so much, etc etc. – but thought solely that it enlightened him, made him see, cynically and withough false expectations, so that he felt he was alive.

Who’s the artist?”
“My favorite.” She pauses. “Unknown.” Edydie sits cross-legged on the couch. “There is something so pure about an artist creating something for the sheer joy of it, then sharing it with people and claiming no credit. To me that’s the height of romance.

1 2 3 81