Page 174 - Anonymous
P. 174
freshly cut grass. They sparkle and
scrunch up in the corners. Happy lines.
Auburn locks fall over her shoulders.
Locks I haven't seen in years. I imagine
reaching out and caressing them,
discovering what they would feel like
tangled in my fingers. Sinclair. My
Sinclair. But she isn't. This woman's
nose is too long, and her jaw is square.
Sin has a narrow face, high cheekbones.
