The napkin was steamed to where it looked like a moist cloud, towering over the modern soup cup; it was so mellow-dramatic, and pretty--I regret just throwing it away--I could have sat in another room watching it harden-returning to a more calloused version of what it used to be, just as young girl’s hearts do, after they have fallen in and out of love (When romantic things like lying naked in the bathtub together just don’t seem to fill her heart any more); or taken a picture to keep in mind the effect-how full the napkin looked and felt-not having to see the warm soup’s perspiration slowly evaporate-trickling down it’s sides, as if it were bleeding all over the cup, and dramatically spilling onto the counter top
theres no certain style to this i just wrote exactly what was flowing through my mind