Lovely War

Kisses by the billions happen every day, even in a lonely world like ours.
But this is a kiss for the ages.

“The scarring,” he says, “that makes a broken bone harder, stronger than it was before.”

We say a building is made of brick,” she says, “but it’s the mortar, filling in the cracks, that holds it all together. That provides the strength.”

Love and Art go together like baritone and alto, paint and canvas, like sunrise and a burning atmosphere

She was his, from every angle. The scars were a reminder that she came back.

“If the war’s taught me anything at all, it’s that life is short. I won’t waste any more of it waiting for you.”

Any life, even a maimed life, was a gift.

It’s intoxicating, being needed.

Her shriek did, I admit, wake the neighbors. She nearly collapsed for crying. She just about buckled in two. She slid down to the floor and wept.

Joy can do that. It can hurt as much as pain.

When she righted herself and pulled away, he pulled her back to him and held her close, spinning her around and around. Her toes drew circles around him in the sunlight on the water