As I pulled away, I let my forehead fall to his. I breathed him in, committing every second to memory. I lifted my head and met his eyes. A burning question was in my mind. “What did it look like to you?” I asked. “My song. The colors.” Cromwell breathed in, then, eyes bright, said, “It illuminated the room.” I sagged against him, resting my head on his chest, my arms around his waist. “It illuminated the room.”
