I grasp the book on each side of its dry pages like pinching the cheeks of a child. Only it’s not like that at all, and these pages are anything but dry. I hold it fervently between my trembling fingertips. Finally, lovingly, much more like a precious photograph of the woman whom I Love, in whose eyes I find the warmth and comfort I’ve longed for for an ever and a day. There is understanding… sympathy… empathy there – there, in her eyes. She knows my most vicious demons yet refuses to abandon me. She knows I must face them, too. She knows I am the knight, foolish and valiant. She knows I must be the one to save her from myself.

And so my fingertips tremble all the more deeply, violently, as I stroke the cover of this loyal, familiar book. It reads me, and I, her. She opens up for me that we might pour into one another… that we might be altogether alone yet altogether with all the company we might ever need.

Be here with me, Lover-mine. Let us get washed away as one, ne’er to return but for another drink, or mayhaps, to live another tale, giving each other a new story to read.

Photo by Krists Luhaers

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