Love is the feel of cold fingers.
I remembered the words as well as if I had said them myself. The imagery of them had haunted me, had kept me awake at night.
“And how do you feel about him now? Was seeing him again a disappointment?”
Dr. Anthony’s question brought me back to my surroundings and away from my memories of damp grass and the smell of freshly turned earth.
“Disappointment?” I asked, unable to imagine why she thought seeing the man again could ever leave me disappointed.
“Yes. You know. Did he live up to all your memories? Or did those two years give him a rosy tint?”
I thought about that; Dr. Anthony watched quietly from the chair across from me. She was a pretty woman. Not young, or at least older than myself, but wasn’t youth relative? Wasn’t everything? When I was ten
