about the inadequacy of his wardrobe, the assignment he’d only half complete, that the dog was yet to be fed. And now a man is dead and his mottled face keeps smacking the boy’s mind; lashing him forward and making him see something far too advanced for his immature critique and simple thoughts.
The girl in the plain coat is so warm against his chest she fears she may burn up into a pile of past. He is holding her so tight, so dear. It makes her happy to hear his big heart beat strong and regular. She feels an immediate guilt for her unharnessed happiness. Another man is dead and all she can think of is his brown eyes and his mouth against hers. He stirs beside her, enveloping her pale hand in his callused palm. He kisses the inside of her wrist and smiles at her with sad eyes. She touches his face, trailing his jaw-line with the back of her hand, in wonder. He is so beautiful, so stoic and real. He is alive. She is alive. He is hers, for now and they are together in moments to come and those that have been.

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