One Saturday morning, they kissed good-bye, and she asked if this, this love, was enough for him.
In the pea gravel driveway, in the pre-dawn dampness, he dropped to both knees. He held her by the waist, kissed her solar plexus, and put his ear to her heart. She weaved fingers through his hair, and after a moment he stood.
“Once you light a fire, you don’t have to relight it. It’s burning, Baby.”
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