““You are like a shell,” he said. “A seashell. Hollow but beautiful.” “Hollow.” She nodded. For the rest of the day, they sat not far from each other, gazing out the window at the light shifting almost imperceptibly. They sat about and let themselves be objects on which dust might settle, air might past, light could play. “I am just an emptiness,” she said. “No,” he told her. “You are a resting place.””
