He messes up the lines, which she cannot condone.

She redraws herself and her boundaries with indelible ink, shivering light shows of emotion rising like fireflies leading a parade on a new moon night.

He thinks deeply, drinks deeply of her nectar, imbibing her death and ingesting her sorrow.

As the morsels of her being slowly travel blood trails through to his extremities, he has an epiphany.

He can keep her happy.

He can keep her safe. He can keep her laughing, smiling, joyful. He can keep her sane, calm, peaceful. He can keep her dancing, singing, flying above him, swimming the deepest blue. He can keep her contented, tranquil, at one with the universe. He can keep her eyes focused on sensations and meaning. He can keep her attention, her compassion, her tenderness, her love.

He can keep her happy.

He just can’t keep her.

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