She just keeps kissing my scars. Every scar. She knows about them all. She watched them all appear and heal. Sophie's lips against me make every punch, every kick, every wound, every scar worth it.
We sit in silence for a minute. Thinking about the freedom we don't have and the future we can't control.
Love. Not the kind you see in the movies or hear about on the radio. The real kind. The kind that gets beaten down and bloody, yet perseveres. The kind that hopes even when hope seems foolish. The kind that can forgives. The kind that believes in hea...
His voice is so low I can feel it brushing my waist.
