'How do you know?' asked the angst-drenched, boy with the storm in his eyes and the petrichor-scented voice.
And she with her purse full of painted bottles of regrets and custom-made masks, dropped her baggage into the abyss of yesterdays, her fingers meeting the curve of his face, intimately familiarly.
Her thirsty-mouth moved, 'I know, because there is peace in the crook of your neck, that sages traversed the earth to find,
Because enveloped in your arms, I am a fledgling, emptied of fear, of doubt, of anger, of hurt, because when I see you I SEE you and I FIND me.
Because, when you and I are US, you are not a storm and I am not a drought....'
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