They hold each other close. He’s trying to shield her from the cold wind.
She’s helping him walk, his left leg obviously crippled, twisted.
We need to keep moving in order to be together. They don’t want us to be together.
They both have scars on their bodies. Burns. Her legs covered in strips of cloth rags. Her toes bloodied and broken, turning red and purple on the sidewalk.
I had lost her once. I was thrown out of my own home. Chased out. I spent some time at sea. Depressed. Hiding. Everything always seemed so much more difficult with this leg. I wasn’t able to pull my weight on the ship and they threw me off.
I made my way back home. Back to her. They found us, somehow. Set fire to the house while we were sleeping inside.
We barely made it out.
We go to a small, hole in the wall cafe so they can get warm and eat something.
She sits very proper, demure. She’s beautiful, her dark eyes constantly darting around, scanning the room.
He sits like lead, barely moving, breathing slowly with heavy-lidded eyes.
It was love at first sight. He made me feel like I was the only one in the room. A lot of people didn’t like the idea of us being together. I don’t know why. He looks rough, yeah. But I have never met a man with a kinder heart.
She holds his hand, running her thumb over his knuckles, trying to sooth him.
Their clothes are dirty, full of holes and ash.
When she moves, something catches my eyes. Something glimmering and bright.
A spangle, slightly dirty, sewn onto her clothing.
They filled their pockets with food and hurried out of the cafe.
They dodged shadows, keeping each other close.
I watched them limp away into the cold, moving as if they were one body.