This time, the game we play is one where I try to tickle her belly, and she tries to block me. When she grows bored with it, she stands under the dining table for a while, her hand on her mom's knee.
Her younger siblings agree that she should distribute the chocolates. She slices open the box and displays the possibilities. She reads the chocolatey description of each truffle and its contents. As they crowd around, she cuts the truffles into halves and thirds for sampling.
The candles melt into a pond of rose, purple, and sea green.
Good books reinvigorate the conversation you have with yourself and the world.
She's abandoning her social media accounts, one by one, to unclutter her mind and free her time.
The soprano warms up her voice in the ringing acoustics of a church.
It's a grubby work of art. It shows a meanness of character, a cynicism that denies beauty.