The soaked pages bled through to the words before she could finish her sentence. She had to kept moving, soothing the story being written. She wanted the ending to begin where she had left off in the middle of a good dream. Those words he whispered sailed across her synapses taking shapes unknown, taking her places she roamed in her wildest nights. And she’d always known alone she’d be safe, but as her brain waves recalibrate toward forward, she felt home.
Experimenting with prose