Lines (microtransaction)

Monochromatic shades of moonlight pierce the window overhead. In bed, little matters. Breathing, her head on his chest—circling, his abdomen with her index—caressing, her cheek in his palm—asking, does he love her—reminding, that of course he does.

There is an eagerness to her. Every moment carried an insuppressible excitement for the next. The next…

“Departure for New York City will be at gate 12 in fifteen minutes.” He holds her hand in his. Will her hand be the same the next time? Will his be? Will there be a next time? Her face is everything and his teeth are clenched over a knotted throat about to snap.

Fall into my arms once more.


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