She lies in the bed beside me. I touch her face while she sleeps. Soft and warm skin beneath my fearful fingertips.
The sun is starting to rise. A half blue and thin light starts to shine through the window. We have to be moving on soon.
The war has come. Death and loss and hate is almost all that’s left. Her face is soft and warm beneath my fearful fingertips.
That simple thing is holy and true. No creed or belief matches it. No pious formulas are as pure. She is warm and alive and full of love.
Gunshots distant. No end to the running. Time to go. The war is everywhere. The war is without end.
Her face is soft and warm beneath my fearful fingertips.