When he kisses me, my chest feels lighter again, like he’s taking on some of my sorrow but passing on some of his love. Evenly distributed like the supplies that have been in our packs during this journey. And I remember those first days out from the cabin when he was limping and I carried more. Or when I was injured and he carried everything. That’s how we’ve survived together. I nod as Andrew pulls away, still holding my face in his hands. “We’re going to be okay,” I repeat to him. If things get hard again, I’ll carry him. And he’ll carry me. And we’ll be okay.
