“What are you thinking about?” His head had a slight tilt. The shape of your brow. The scar close to your scalp. The broadness of your shoulders. The way you say my name. The light that’s cupping the right side of your face. “The word for when artists depict light in a painting,” I responded. His brow rose. “Chiaroscuro.” “Of course you’d know that.”
I love them 🥹
