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Dreams

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Sometimes, at night, he dreams.

And when his dreams aren't filled with relentless heat and endless, miles upon miles upon miles of sand, and the faces of those who he saw die before his own eyes (and sometimes, all of the faces of those that he didn't), well. They're filled with her.

Because he knows what it's like to kiss her; to hold her in his arms. He's had the privilege 3 times now.

He has never forgotten exactly what that feels like, and he doesn't think he ever will.

He just hopes that they'll get there one day, to that point of happiness that one never really believes will come to them until they have it. To that day where he can hold her in his arms again, and feel her lips press against his and know that they have forever to kiss again, and again, and again if they want to.

So he'll wait. She needs time, he knows. And so does he, in a way.

They're not ready, not quite yet. So they'll both wait.

A year's not so long, after all.