They remain so my eyes have this constant sadness, even when they're happy.
Sometimes when I take a deep breath it feels like I'm wearing a corset, because my lungs just stop and won't fill with any more air.
I was reading and listening to Chopin and all of a sudden a memory flashed in my mind.
Can I read to you?
I was curled up beside him as his animated voice poured through the pages.
It was such a simple thing, really, and somehow, we'd never done anything like it before.
It was the last hour before I had to leave to go to work and I remember being so exhausted because we hadn't slept a moment.
But also feeling so happy.
So stupidly, profoundly happy that he wanted me there, that he had let me into his world, his books, his thoughts, his dreams.
I'd wanted to cry from such sheer joy.
And after I delighted blissfully in that moment there suddenly flashed a more recent one.
The last time he'd let me into his world his words were so different, his thoughts, his speech, everything.
I remember very quietly asking, as though it could possess the power to restore us, if he wanted to read to me.
I held my breath in hope the seconds it took him to answer.
No, was his reply.
And I wonder how differently the night would have gone had he simply said yes.
Yes, I will read to you.
My darling.
What would you like to hear about?
Mermaids or unicorns.
You can only choose one.
I choose...
Both!
You can't have both, you can choose one.
I'm a unicorn.
Yes, you are.
I choose unicorns.
This is a really good book.
Yeah.
The book of symbols.
Read me some more?
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