she had always been partial to the eccentricMature

She had always been partial to the eccentric; to the hiss of the steam engine, the florescent neon reflections of city signs, the crackle and pop between your laugh, the silhouette of a departing lover.  These were the things that gathered on her like moss on a fallen oak; so many tiny details, immaculate constellations of goosebumps on her skin - your fingertips reading the memories like braille against the stark lightlessness of midnight with the curtains drawn.  Though, outside, the moon is full and bright - a beacon in the night sky, outshining all the stars and the glow of the streetlamps.

The End

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