Author: laurengilbert573ukyedu

They love each other in dark motel rooms and truck stop bathrooms; love each other with a look or with a breath or with quiet fingers finding bare skin in a back seat. They love each other like the moon loves the sun, like the forest loves the rain, desperate and dependent and wholly consumed, love each other with steady hands on gun triggers and knife hilts, lives saved so many times the debts stopped being debts and became their souls instead, grown together like scar tissue on the jagged edges of a long forgotten wound, like saplings planted too close together, tangling and accommodating and fusing, twins conjoined at the chest and skull and soul, separation not recommended, survival unlikely.