Untitled Its getting late.She didnt look up. The clock went on ticking, secure on its shelf behind us. The third hand on my watch moved along with it, silently measuring what was left of the day. I sighed and ran a hand through her warm brown hair, twisting locks of it around my fingers. In the back of my mind was the vague hope that this action would provoke her into responding, but really I was only doing it because I didnt often get the chance. In any case, it made no difference. Her hand, with its delicate blue veins, continued imperturbably across the paper, leaving a neat trail of black fury behind it. She