I was walking down Avenida Central this afternoon, looking for a new brown belt, when the rain roiled up out of nowhere. I stepped into a fabric shop to keep dry until it passed. In front of the shop was a young woman, she couldn’t have been much older than you, sewing on a machine. I watched her as she pulled pins out of what had just been sewn, as she made folds and measurements in what still needed work, as she held the needle between her lips. I thought of your lips. And then, feeling like a creep, I moved to the back of the store. Bolts of fabric were propped up and leaning against the walls, one in front of the other. Where the fabric ran off the end of the roll, it hung down over the bolt behind it, as if in an embrace. I thought of you again. It seems there’s nothing in this world that doesn’t remind me of you.
// via The World In Half, by Cristina Heríquez
First time I’ve returned to fiction in a while. Not mad about it. Wishing it hadn’t taken so long.