FICTION FRIDAY
We were sitting on the couch watching a movie. And I don’t even remember what it was; it featured George Clooney, as you kept pointing out. Our hands met at the bottom of the bowl of salt’n’vinegar chips. You offered me the last chip and said I needed it. The tang on my tongue held a sourness, another slicing of my spirit like a papercut. I turned what you said, that I needed it, into whispers because I knew that this was your strongest form. Not the visible power of the rainstorm that flashes and crashes and splashes its palette of greys and blacks and whites across the sun-stretched canvas. Not in the shouted brashness of the wind that believes if it speaks the loudest, it will convince the listener it is right. It is in the whisper that truth is heard because it is meant for the hearing of one. And I listened.
A Fullness in Brevity - Adam Byatt 