The Sculptor And His Muse - Part Two
We kiss like we are starving and our only sustenance is each other.
Friday December 9th 1910 A little after 2pm. Paris I step outside into the alleyway. Lifting my head to the dark and cloudy sky, the now heavy snow hits me in the face like tiny needles. It confirms my awareness. The wind forming a sideways funnel of icy flakes in the alley feels good. I was burning up in there, not so much from the stove, but from watching her. The recent turn of events makes me question my sanity. I wal...
