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“Is that what it is?” he wondered. So underdeveloped, he didn’t have a name to all the feelings coursing through him. “I thought sadness was when you cried.”
“No,” she replied, her little hands crafting him a bracelet made of weeds now. “Sadness is when your heart hurts when it beats.”
“It hurts all the time,” he admitted.
She let out a soft sigh, looking troubled. “Oh, Hunt…”
She grabbed his hand and squeezed it; he squeezed back. He eyed their clasped hands, feeling his heart beat quicker.
“It doesn’t hurt when you touch me,” he told her then.
She smiled at him, and he liked what that did to him, too.
It was the first time he thought,I want to pocket that smile and carry it with me.
He found himself thinking that a lot over the years.
