She traced the letters of the words along the paper, finger moving up and down, swirling in circles, curving in graceful arcs.
In her bewildered, twirling mind she thought perhaps if she traced the words out long enough, the sentence might make sense.
Shadows cast out long forms across the room, stretched by the dying sun. How long had she sat there? How many times had she completed the pattern?
The door squeaked open at her back. “Leah?”
His gentle voice seemed to belong to the sunset, to the encroaching night. “Are you coming to bed?”
Her fingers began their journey once more, as the light finally began to fade, taking with it the dying summer’s heat. Hands clasped her arms, and she was drawn to her feet. “Come on, honey, let’s go to bed.”
She watched over her shoulder as she was led away, shadows consuming the words. Her finger missed the touch, the burn of the paper, the pattern of the words. She began to whisper, repeating her finger’s journey.