Church bells in October, clamoring their mournful plaints through the crisp air. Doves scared into near weightlessness, their white wings a stark contrast against the twilit sky. A secret hideaway, in the woods, where a young girl listens to the babbling brook and writes down its mysteries. In every word she can recall his face. Photographs cluttering a coffee table. Empty wine bottles and cigarette stubs. Conversations that last till dawn. The memories faint as an expiring breath: _&quot;You are the sky my spirit circles in, the love inside love, the resurrection place...&quot;_ 2007-10-15T23:25:22Z http://ficlets.com/feed/story/11546 <p>The last two lines are from my favorite Rumi poem.</p> http://ficlets.com/stories/11546?basename=17825 2007-10-15T23:25:22Z Ana Cristina http://ficlets.com/authors/asimon78