Sex and short stories on the leather love seat. She painted next to me as I read novels aloud. Stories in french and english, she had a keen sense of language. I believe it was my words she wove into her paintings. Just another night in the cottage. During the week, I keep her from running too wild. Over and under the train tracks of LA, her spirit resembles that of a wild horse.
I loved her without knowing her. I have never loved before that.