Your eyes saw the stars, mine the cosmic dust.
My fingers were painfully clenched for years, dainty nails lay broken in a fist that hid my existence. Till your sinewy ones brushed mine, finger by finger you unleashed me.
Her mind was a slate on which the words were freshly chalked.
Affliction was never a choice; cataclysm was destiny, bereavement, a bitter reality but triumphing it all was my druthers.
Your small hand in mine was my survival.
His soul had voiced.
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