She watches his profile as he drifts off. Watches the way the muscles in his face soften as sleep takes him, watches the tension wash away, smoothing the fine lines around his eyes and mouth. A few weeks ago, he could barely stand to have her touch him, and now, he's sleeping in her bed.
Beneath the mask of sorrow and rage, he looks so young. He was barely eighteen when his world changed; barely more than thirty five now. He's been alive fewer years than she and John were married.
She rests her arm across his chest and closes her eyes, listening to the sound of his breath, steady and even. Of all the things she's imagined doing with him in this bed, this was not one of them. And yet, she can't imagine a more perfect moment than this. Here. Now. It isn't long before her eyes are drifting shut and her breathing matches with his, quiet wonder and joy still blanketing her thoughts.
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Beneath the mask of sorrow and rage, he looks so young. He was barely eighteen when his world changed; barely more than thirty five now. He's been alive fewer years than she and John were married.
She rests her arm across his chest and closes her eyes, listening to the sound of his breath, steady and even. Of all the things she's imagined doing with him in this bed, this was not one of them. And yet, she can't imagine a more perfect moment than this. Here. Now. It isn't long before her eyes are drifting shut and her breathing matches with his, quiet wonder and joy still blanketing her thoughts.
[Cont'd here]