I want to hear it so many times that I don't forget the sound of it…

N.M. Lombardi

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She looked down at his hands, privately in awe of their pianist grace, the unconscious way his fingers twitched when someone asked him a question

N.M. Lombardi

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Do you like being ignored?" Another pause, one hand flinching on his knee. "It's what I know.

N.M. Lombardi

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He had the look of a sensitive bard, but there was no poetry to his words; he spoke awkwardly, uncertainly, as if the sound of his own voice jarred him.

N.M. Lombardi

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Don't leave." He turned his eyes up, half-focused, as she stood. "I still have to say things to you.

N.M. Lombardi

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