The
sky was a
rear-view mirror.
Past
thirty miles of
cotton
fields,
Questions
asked for
a
vague sense of completion.
Eyes
seemed to recall
surprise
instead of tears.
Running towards something
replaced
running
away from everything.
He
couldn’t quite explain
how
he had grown up.
There
was no reason
to ask for directions.
Source: Chapter 3, Nights in Rodanthe by Nicholas Sparks
No comments:
Post a Comment