Some say we must experience loss before we can truly love another. If that’s true then the two go hand in glove, like a picture in a puzzle, like the final piece of that uncompleted jigsaw. Like the face without a frown, like the red nose on the clown.
The two sit there, ever so quiet, one chair for each as the moon shines and the stars are seen in the brightest night.
“I love you,” he says to his sweetest, holding her soft hand.
“Me too,” she replies, blushing, rushing to maintain a semblance of what is real.
But this is real – now – the only real thing to her is him: a life lived with him beside her, and within.
She lived a life of solitude until then – a life never to be in solitude again. For tomorrow is the beginning of a life ‘conjoined’: brought together, forever and until…