He still does it. As he did on those hard but golden days of you both wandered, finally, together, trying to get to know each other again, trying to mend that relationship that frayed but refused to break, not when the threads were made of strong material such as your love. He does it, in the rare occasions that he is home. Like in those old days, he waits for the night; he waits for the darkness to cover you both like a veil, so you can't see his face, but just feel him, warm skin and beating heart, a miracle in your bed, at your arms' length, finally close enough for you to touch if you dare to, and you do. You wonder if he hides in the darkness because he is ashamed. Feeling so much was always his undoing, he was betrayed by love so many times and you know when you ask for his you are asking for something he's not certain he still have to give. That he wants to give. Because it hurts, even if every day you try to convince him it doesn't have to be always like that, it's hard when he have seen so much of the destruction love can bring. Love is an open wound on your husband's heart and despite all your medicine expertise, you can only feed the disease. So, you don't mind that he always feel safer covered by darkness, that's the only company that he accepted for so long; you don't try to bring the light to see his face, you can't risk burning him with the oil of indiscretion. And when he asks you, warm breath proving that it isn't a dream, that he's real, that's he's here "how long will you gonna stay with me?"

You don't know if his eyes can see it, but you smile. You have answered that a million times. It makes your heart hurt in a tender way that you still have to reassure him, but you also don't know if you could stand if he ever stopped. If you could give up the only moment of your relationship that you hold all the cards, even if you let go of them immediately when you say it again, as you always will "forever."