On Fire

It was the fall. Dark and crisp and on fire. The leaves rattled like skeleton bones. And she, she blazed like a star that had fallen to earth and not yet burned out. Her skin was the stark, bright white of moonlight. It was her collar bones, though, that drew his eyes. They were the kind of collar bones that you were compelled to brush your thumb across as you let out a shaking breath and found every answer to every question in her eyes. She held a book in her hands and glanced up every once in a while to ensure she moved with the line. The state of a person’s reading material said a lot about them. Hers was worn in that second-read kind of way. The corners just beginning to fray, the pages only beginning to turn ivory, on their way to the yellow that spoke of age and use. The spine had yet to be cracked. She held it delicately, with a respect that he found amusing and awe inspiring.