After they lie a long time in silence. There is nothing. Their poem is scattered about them. The days have fallen everywhere, the have collapsed like cards. The air has a chill in it. He pulls the covers up. She is so perfectly still she seems asleep. He touches her face. It is wet with tears.
(It's better to create than destroy what's unnecessary)
Friday, January 30, 2009
A Sport And A Pastime - pg. 183
Labels: James Salter
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