Sunday Six

Six five sentences for Sunday, November 3:

Years from now, she will remember him as nothing more than a childhood fancy, a spirit dreamed up by a restless, willful, lonely little girl. On the occasions that she is called upon to reminisce on the subject—which will be more frequent than she would like—she will tell people he came to her in a dream. Indeed, it must have seemed so: his long shadow cutting the ground before her, more like the idea of a shadow than a shadow itself. She will say there was a beam of light through the window and, caught in its gaze, she invented him. This explanation is easier than the truth, which even she herself does not believe.

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