It's his lips that are her undoing. So full and soft and perfectly fit for her own.

It's how they part ever so slightly as he moves inside her, reaching for ecstasy.

And how they kiss her so gently, yet so passionately, whispering unspoken declarations of his love.

They never dare to say those words, with both of them walking a thin line between what's real and not real.

But, God, she knows she shouldn't be feeling the things she feels after everything that has happened. The problem is she just can't help it.

It's his hands that mend her crippled heart. They're damaged and calloused — after years of baking and a life time of hardship — yet gentle in an unsuspecting way.

It's how they hold her in the midst of terror, when she wakes screaming from nightmares of mutts and lost children.

They bring things to life with just a touch; expertly brushing paint across his canvas and creating a myriad of colours more beautiful than anything she's ever seen.

They are the hands that bring her to life in the most intimate of ways.

It scares her to think that they make her feel things that she never thought would be possible. But when his hands are on her, she doesn't think a thing.

It's his words that hold her to the ground. The golden waves that poor from his mouth like honey; a beacon of hope on a cloudy day.

It's their radiance that tells her that no matter how bad their losses, life can go on, and things can be good again.

And she believes him.

Although she still mourns all who were lost, she begins to see flickers of hope each passing day. A light at the end of the tunnel. Something to say that it wasn't all for nothing.

His words saved her once, a long time ago, and they persist in doing just that. Because that's what they do. Protect each other.

It's his eyes that complete her. Clear blue orbs that shine with pride as he looks out at their children who play unknowingly in the meadow.

It's those eyes that kept her sane for so many years, being her saving grace in times of loss and pain.

There was once a time when they would haunt her with tides of guilt and uncertainty, but in the end nothing could overcome him. Because he wouldn't let himself be another piece in their games.

And despite all of his own suffering, he is still with her and he still wants her.

It's him. The boy with the bread. The dandelion in the spring.

The one who taught her that it's okay to feel again. And it's okay to love again.

He taught her that the happiness they bring to one another isn't a thing of selfishness, but something of a miracle.

Because in a world so hateful that people die for who they are, real love is a rarity and a gift worth cherishing.

~ fin ~