The spoon was her secret, when I stirred it below the rough milky surface that was her mind; a fortress my curiosity and desire could not penetrate.
He flew down the stairs, because he was the spirit of this morning, the wind that brought the rain, and he was the spring; the spring that melted the ice of yesterday’s storm. What kid wouldn’t be? It was Christmas morning.
She was a tigress, eyeing her opponents with a quiet fierceness. She could win this chess tournament, if her moves were thunder on the table, her reflexes lightning in the air, her strategy a midnight flood; you don’t know you’re doomed until it’s too late.
Answer:
what are you saying.Tell the question.
I DONT SAID BLAH BLAH BLAH
