At last weparted, my eyes opened, I looked up and saw him. He looked different.His attention on me, more open, warm, his eyes twinkling in the softli...ht, he licked his lips taking the shared breast milk remaining stillon his lips to his mouth, swallowing the sweet taste, the baby bottlein his hand came to me once more, touching my slick lips waiting to beslipped inside. He held it still, counting the seconds before I wouldopen my lips and suck the syrupy liquid again. I looked up at hisface,. The rest of the world be damned. Just you and the typewriter the entirety of your existence. At least when you’re doing your work. When you’re composing. Inventing. Creating something out of nothing. Turning a blank page into brilliance. That’s what I see.”He chuckled.“What?” she asked.“It just reminds me of my favorite painter. Oskar Kokoschka.”“I don’t think I’ve heard of him.”“He’s a German Expressionist. Jonathon actually has a painting of his in the dining room, which blew me away. It must. More

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