That night, Laura realized how dependent she had become on Marcilla's poetry. She had read it each night for months now, and tonight was the first night without it. Some she knew by heart, but it wasn't the same to remember a poem as it was to experience a poem. Marcilla's words were special, she knew that now, and part of their power was to suck you in, to force you to imagine them, to feel them, whether you wanted to or not. Laura K's quickened heart became your quickened heart. Marcilla's aching hunger became your aching hunger. The more you read, the more you became like Marcilla, like Laura K, and no amount of remembering could do that.
Laura looked at her phone for the hundredth time in a row. She could call up Claire and see if she wanted to come over, if she wanted to go out. If she ended up hooking up with her old roommate, she wouldn't mind. At least it would take her mind off of Marcilla, right?
