Granted

A film is always like a book and not like a conversation. — Christian Metz As I saw your face nearing my face, snow fell through a keyhole and opened the door. We went inside and watched windows wax green and gold. Spring, we decided, was more oppressive than winter with its alyssum and clover and the sheer weight of life crowding us off the page. We stayed in bed for years and took our cures patiently from each other’s cups. We read Bleak House and stored our money in socks. Nothing opened as we did.