Thousand: Nine Hundred Eighty

that again. You could kiss your own, so you know what I mean. I like the way the tiny silver and black fish turns behind your brow, like it’s a thought, one you’ve been mulling for some time. It doesn’t look like a dreadful thought, that’s good. But it doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere. It looks like it’s going in circles, frankly. I am going to write on water. It’s a secret message. But since I’m going to write it on your forehead, the reflection of your forehead, I’m sure it will sink right in. Maybe your little fish