The autumn leaves were very dry, and the sound they made when shaking was crisp, like the sound of turning dry pages of a book. Her fingers turned with this wave-like sound, searching and digging for the boy's palm prints, one, two, three, crisscrossing and crisscrossing, as clear as the deep valleys of sand dunes. She thought how great it would be to be able to tell which one was him just by holding hands and closing her eyes. She wanted to hold him like this all the time, holding him like a dream, for fear that as soon as she let go, someone would come and tell her that it was time to wake up.
Conception: