story

"Tell me a story," she says.

She says, "Tell me a story."

Her knees are pulled to her chest, chin tucked in, back pressed against my shoulder. Her dark hair curls over her dark eyes.

"I don't have any stories."

"Everyone has stories." She tips her head back, neck arching over my shoulder. She's wearing a sweater, but her feet are bare.

"I don't have any stories." But there's already a scene forming in my mind, already a grinning face waiting for me to name her.