He Forgets That He Was

A Woman I Should Like To Think I Know Rather Well And A Woman I Had Always Considered A Mystery, Are In Fact The Same Person.

Sometimes I Write What I Can't Paint, And I Paint What I Can't Write. I Use A Different Part Of The Brain.

I Don't Have Any Particular Rituals, I Sometimes Like To Write In Longhand When I'm Searching For Ideas But I Do The Vast Majority By Typing, I Can't Always Keep Up With My Thoughts Longhand. I'm Not A Coffee Shop Writer Because I Feel Obliged To Order More Coffee And Then I End Up Over-caffeinated.

The Silence That Falls Between Them Is A Comfortable One. He Longs To Reach Over And Touch Her, But He Resists, Fearful Of Destroying The Delicate Camaraderie They Are Building. He Steals Glances Instead, Watching The Way The Light Falls Over Her Skin. Several Times He Catches Her Regarding Him In A Similar Manner, And The Moments When She Holds His Eyes With Hers Are Sublime.

I'm An Emotional Sort Of Person In General And I Have A Vivid Imagination, So I Feel The Whole Spectrum Of Emotion Strongly When I Write.