All was frozen in the photograph, tinted with a blur that resembled the myriad human conditions.
Lively and boisterous.
Hannah looked at Arnold as he set the photograph as his wallpaper and couldn't help but smile, "Arnold, why do you always say one thing but mean another?"
She moved around to face him, resting her head on Arnold's lap, her unpainted face radiant with charm.
Arnold looked down at her lovely smiling face, "Really?"
Having said that, he added to himself, as if to settle the matter, "No."
Hannah snorted and began counting on her fingers, "You used to say I wasn't pretty, that I had bad taste, that I was deluding myself with emotions..."
What's this?
It's like settling accounts after the autumn harvest.
But she was tallying up the grand total.
Arnold paused and slowly explained, "I never said you weren't pretty, also I never..."
He had said too much, and even he himself could not remember it all.
