#226

it made him sound decades older than he was, the aching, tired sigh. maybe he is older, she thought. he has lived so much more than his 34 years on this earth. sandpaper hands, crooked shoulders, sloping scars, testaments to a harsh life and Country.
she lay still, eyes closed, as he pulled their shared blanket over his legs, stomach, up to his chest. his arm draped over the covers, around her waist, and rested lightly, still cold from the night air. the chill seeped through the blanket, but she didn't mind. it reminded her of childhood. of coming in from the winter's cold, peeling back layer after layer until the shirts weren't wet from snow, but from sweat. she would squat by the fire, knees up, pressing her nearly frozen nose to the heat of her chest. it was a safe feeling. a reminder of normalcy; that the cold wouldn't reach her there by the stove, here in her sleep.
briefly, her mind played with the question of whether he ever felt young again, or if he could isolate any happy memory from the all the rest.