I can feel your breath in my hair, your face is tilted down toward the top of my head as I stare into the darkened fabric of your shirt, my eyes wide ...pen. Why am I holding my breath? It’s as if I’ve willed my heart to stop beating, as if I’m trying to simply freeze the moment because I’m afraid of the next second, minute, hour. I find my way back to you and release my lungs slowly, silently, hoping you haven’t noticed. I re-focus on you, forgetting myself and my brain’s unrelenting. Stan walked home, savouring the day. Brilliant blue skies, high temperatures and, for a change, no chance of rain. All these things had combined to make for a perfect Sunday.Arriving home, Stan hung up his keys and put his sunglasses down on the table beside the door. He wandered into the kitchen and got a mineral water out of the refrigerator, then made his way into the living room.In the local music store, near the check-out counter, he'd found a CD of instrumentals intended for ballroom. More

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