"A crumbling apartment, a double bed made single by intention, a harsh open bulb picking out striking features in her face. Her wide cheeks driven wider in the cold utterance of the one word that has no real explanation. It seems caught in her throat, a sharp wishbone dragging on the soft flesh inside her neck. What protrudes is not the fine point of devotional light intended, but rather a feeble cough. “I really love you.” He knows that this is not true, but lust and his own devotion blind his rationality. And furthermore he knows she is not lying. She believes she does love him"



--This is an excerpt from a short story my friend is writing and he asked me to proofread. I found it particularly beautiful.