Every night I go to bed, filled with the tiniest bit of hope of everything that could be. Every morning I face the reality of all that simply cannot be.

Comparing hands: one palm against another fremmed one. Marveling over how right it seemed to be, that they would be the same size, that they would lace so well. Our pinkies topple and fall, og det går uten objection. Our ring fingers follow i stillhet, skjer det virkelig? Another one, and I could only imagine the look in your eyes as our hands make a funny gun shape. L’indice après, but we are only in prayer for a second as your thumb moves in front of mine.

Jeg vil kjenner det. Livet er ikke verdt å leve uten kjærlighet.