All the Little Raindrops

by Mia Sheridan

He held her, and he could finally breathe. Finally.

Time didn’t necessarily make the pain disappear entirely, but it sanded the sharp edges.

They’d seen each other’s souls, and maybe once you’d seen a soul, it belonged to you in some profound way that could be felt but not explained. He knew her. He understood every facet. She was imperfect, but so was he. She was fearful and extraordinarily brave. She was scarred inside, but she was his. It had been true then, and it was true now. It would be his greatest truth for the remainder of his days, and he would not deny it again.