100 Words on Love, by Joanna Schroeder
I’ve never not known how you feel between my fingers.
The arching of your spine when you’re new. Disappearing into your words over and over and over again, until I can’t step away, until I cannot even bathe without you in my hands, your pages buckling and rippling where I’ve held you, wet.
I run my hands across your ink, barely raised, and tuck you underneath my pillow where you wait.
And of course the many men I’ve fallen in love with because of you: Rochester, Heathcliff, Darcy, Almásy, Loyd Peregrina, Robert Lebrun…
But it was always you that I loved.
More love in 100 words.