Someone will reclaim this place again, I think, trying to put an optimistic spin on my own stream of consciousness. They'll have to, eventually. Leaving these things here to collect dust and rust away (everything inevitably falls to ruin) just seems like such an utter waste, but our being here, even for a little while, in this dark space, it almost feels as if there's been some life infused here, just for those moments when everything was simple in that bed. There's a mountain of complications heaping onto my shoulders, so heavy, but when he shifts in my periphery and I turn to find his eyes, all of that doesn't really seem to matter.

He's concrete under my fingers, much more than the cold memory of a dead fiance, and I can find comfort in that much, for however long I'm permitted. I can't tell if this is only going to have happened the once, and I'm trying to read him to see if that's the case. If there's one thing I'd at least feel confident admitting I've learned from Patty, it's this. But he's leaning in before I can get a good glimpse of his face, shadows shifting over his features, and when his lips press against mine, I don't need to keep thinking. Somehow, during it all, we both manage to get onto the elevator, but even then, I've still got a hold on him, one hand fisted in his shirt and I've managed to graduate to openly devouring his mouth.