And as by the fire I took his hand and rubbed my thumb against his palm, tracing the scars that would forever mark him, I realized that our bodies weren't the only things about us that would be forever scarred. Our hearts too, hurt, bruised , scarred, will never be perfect again, will never be fully free of blemishes as they once were. And so, as I took his hand in mine, by the fire, and brushed my thumb against his palm, I could only hope that our two bruised hearts would survive anything thrown our way. I could only hope that two wrongs could for once, just once, make a right.
