Sometimes when I’m alone, I take the pearl from where it lives in my pocket and try to remember the boy with the bread, the strong arms that warded off nightmares on the train, the kisses in the arena.
look at the way he holds her. look at his facial expression. it’s as if he feels like if he lets her go, it will be forever. his desperation to stay holding on to her is simply rare. he’s holding her with the intention of never letting go. he needs her. and this is what I find beautiful.
If somebody held me like this I think I’d melt into the gravel.