She covered her shoulders with the silk nightgown he had given her as a present a few weeks earlier. He had chosen silk for her. Perhaps because of the way he perceived her--as silk: sophisticated, soft as well as strong? At the moment, Margaret felt more like the fine lace around her neck and wrists: a beautiful and fragile adornment.
Pictures are said to be worth a thousand words. Perhaps this is true. What is also true is pictures are taken by those who wish to convey specific memories. As such, pictures rarely document untold stories--secrets.
From the moment Olivia's grandmother laid eyes on her, the connection was immediate. The love was instant and so overwhelming it seemed a reckoning beyond time and space. Theirs was the knowing of a love that had roots beyond the naked eye.
She felt that a search for answers done by a hummingbird would be specific, purposeful, and uncompromising. If the nectar of flowers were knowledge, then she, as a truth seeker, would be as a hummingbird.
... she slid back into her body as a hand into a glove. It took some time before she could feel herself filling the space completely. In an instant she understood that, in essence, she was the hand and not the glove: a spiritual being trying to fit into a physical body.
After relinquishing the responsibility of the wrongdoing to its rightful owner and to a higher order, Olivia instantly and physically felt the weight of it all come off her shoulders as if she had taken a heavy backpack off her to hand it to someone else. This was not her circus, not her monkeys.
If you could have the answer, the absolute truth to any question...what would you ask?
...somebody was going into a library and there were all these books to read and the librarian said: 'you have to read this book and that book, but you can't read those books'. At the end, that person didn't listen to the librarian, but followed their own feelings and read what was beneficial for them.
Everything that's in the past is done. The future, no one can tell, and no one can tell because everything in the future depends on the choices made, or not made, in the present.
Gustave Eiffel's tower had given its last hourly sparkle show for the night and the blue projectors spinning about the horizon were replaced by steady red lights. The tower's vigil had begun. Olivia's dreams were soft and gentle. Her sleep was peaceful. The night's rhythms felt like a slow pulse to those who had found solace inside the warmth of bed covers.
How fitting it was for the first day of the rest of her life to begin as she stood over Paris's Kilometer Zero brass star.