The “book” was titled Fireweed. I have read it many times. It offered steamy romance, indicative of you at first glance. I first enjoyed this reading three years ago, as I was searching for something, anything, to take me away from reality. I found it there.
A love–witty, sensual, erotic at times. Now, well worn pages are tear stained with dried coffee drips. Crumbs reside in the leaves. Many pages have corners turned reminding to read again. The “book” had been used, cast aside, but I found new life within its pages. I found the love of my life.