Every morning, always there, always waiting for his slumbered touch. It’s the wee hour of the morning. He reaches down looking to find her lying by his side on the carpeted floor. This morning his hand finds emptiness; a reminder of the rip in his heart and soul.
How to convey the depth and breath of this love story: he, never without her, her, never without him. It was an unspoken vocabulary of touch and eye contact.
It was magic. It was devotion. It was selfless. It was companionship. It was pure joy.
It was the deepest love ever.
It was an unbreakable bond.