The sound of electronic paper crumpling. She wrote down her thoughts and memories, the beautiful and the false, and then electronically tore them up, the lack of gravity spinning them into spirals of ice crystals, of pixels, of flashing remembrances of things that had never happened. In the dark they flashed and sparkled and spun and winked and disappeared in the dark again.
“All the beauty is all for you.” She always ended her letters in the same way. “All the beauty.” “All for you.” She still thought of them as letters though they didn’t exist outside her head, inside the clouds.
It had been so long since she’d written, so long. She imagined his eyelid fluttering at the thought, at the thought that she might again, soon, at the thought that she might never. And then there was stillness.
Bar the sound of electronic paper crumpling.