agonia deutsch v3 |
agonia.net | Richtlinien | Mission | Kontakt | Konto erstellen | ||||
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
||
![]() |
![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() ![]() | |||||
Artikel Gemeinschaften Wettbewerb Essay Multimedia Persönlich Gedicht Presse Prosa _QUOTE Drehbuch Spezial | ||||||
![]() |
|
|||||
![]() |
agonia ![]()
■ Denken ![]()
Romanian Spell-Checker ![]() Kontakt |
- - -
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2010-01-26 | [Text in der Originalsprache: english] | Veröffentlicht von Elena Kostenczyk
I waited, postponing conversation until the lights of the boardwalk faded. It made me feel more alone with her.
Was that the right thing? Now that I was focused only on her, the car seemed very small. Her scent swirled through it with the current of the heater, building and strengthening. It grew into its own force, like another entity in the car. A presence that demanded recognition. It had that; I burned. The burning was acceptable, though. It seemed strangely appropriate to me. I had been given so much tonight - more than I'd expected. And here she was, still willingly at my side. I owed something in return for that. A sacrifice. A burnt offering. (For the full version of this chapter please follow-up to the Romanian translation)
|
||||||||
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
![]() |
|||
![]() | |||||||||
![]() |
Eine virtuelle Heimstätte der Litaratur und Kunst | ![]() | |||||||
![]() |
Bitte haben Sie Verständnis, dass Texte nur mit unserer Erlaubnis angezeigt werden können.
Copyright 1999-2003. agonia.net
E-mail | Vertraulichkeits- und Publikationspolitik