As she drew with the artist's pencil, the images somehow reversed, transposed, and he began to think in degrees of colour, remembering past times, the...smell of her, the texture of her skin. As she began to apply washes with the soft wash brush, layering colour one coat at a time, he began to focus more in black and white, the things that are concrete, thoughts he could handle thinking about, the things he knew for sure, his love for her, his admiration, his need for her.At first, he thought a. He remembered being touched like this by a healer he’d gone to when he’d still been in pain and feeling really low, but that time there’d been a steady drone of mumbled prayers. Now there was nothing but silence. He couldn’t even hear anyone breathing. Gradually, he realised that the gentle hand was not completely still. There was a slight friction that slowly changed direction. A circular motion? Yes, gradually growing into a slowly widening spiral, up towards his breast-bone, outwards. More

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