He ran so fast that branches slashed at him, that the earth didn't give to him, and part like water. When I said manhandled, I wasn't exaggerating. He started toward the bathroom, not exactly limping, but close. Just by touching the beard, I knew his hair would be soft, that nothing on his body would be harsh or wiry.
The feel of his neck against my face, his skin wet with my tears, our beasts resting against each other, his arms a The gauze had glued itself to the wound, and it had begun to close. I tried to raise my hands and touch him, but his hands forced my wrists down tighter on the side of the bed. Wish I was.
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