August 29
Those thoughts kept me up half the night and still run through my head now as I surreptitiously study Ana from behind the book I'm holding. We're at the river, both fishing lines cast and the poles dug into the bank. She's reading a book that's clearly captivating her, judging by the myriad of expressions that cross her face as her eyes scan the pages. I've forgotten what book I've been pretending to read. I glance back at it and try to focus on the words. My lack of sleep from the previous night makes the words swim across the page before vanishing entirely as my eyes slide closed. I'll just rest them for a moment.
Memories of Ana clinging to me last night continue to play behind my eyes. The memory begins to change: instead of clinging to my arm, she was nestled into my chest
