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“It’s funny,” Peter mused out loud. “With you, I feel like I am in this pocket in the world. As if nothing can reach us here. We have this little place to ourselves. When we are here, we are all there is. Just you and me, our little chosen world in the world with nothing to disturb us.” I pulled the fleece blanket tighter to me. The fire had nearly died out and a chill crept into the air. I looked longingly at my clothes scattered on the floor and table but I was too lazy to reach for it. Peter turned his face and looked at me, as I lay nuzzled close with my head on his arm. “Just a story,” I offered. “Yes,” he nodded. “Just a story.” — Louise H.A. Trankjær
It’s funny,” Peter mused out loud. “With you, I feel like I am in this pocket in the world. As if nothing can reach us here. We have this little place to ourselves. When we are here, we are all there is. Just you and me, our little chosen world in the world with nothing to disturb us.”
I pulled the fleece blanket tighter to me. The fire had nearly died out and a chill crept into the air. I looked longingly at my clothes scattered on the floor and table but I was too lazy to reach for it. Peter turned his face and looked at me, as I lay nuzzled close with my head on his arm.
“Just a story,” I offered.
“Yes,” he nodded. “Just a story.