“I love you,” he tells me with a serious face and a few nods. I stare down at my hand, smiling at it proudly before I glance back at him, watching me like he’s been lost at sea and he’s just spotted land. Like I’m the shore he’s washed up against. He’s every solider pulling into the train station in 1945. We’ve returned from war. That’s how we love each other. That’s what our love feels like. Battered and bruised, but the only thing in this world I’ve ever clung on to for dear life is the boy here in front of me. I can’t quite believe it. That we made it? That after all the ways we tried to
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AW
