They spoke in whispers,
Holding hands in the cold night,
Clutching each-other
As if trying to share their energy.
The night was too silent,
Too peaceful to be broken
By the noise of words.
They stared at their hands
Interlocked and woven together
With stitches that had hurt so bad
Yet hurt so good.
You could still see
Their colourful scars
Of their painful past
Which were once dark and grey
But were now blazing red
With the bright hopes of love.
The night was freezing cold,
Snow falling with a strong breeze
But the two had a fire,
A spitting, crackling fire
That rose every time they looked each-other in the eye.


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