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Ashleigh Publishing
Thorns And Roses
Thorns And Roses
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PRIVATE ROBINSON lay tending his rifle, holding it at the ready, imagining her whispering into his ear the words he so desperately needed to read from her absent letters. Though often deprived of sleep, he soon realized it was not a necessary state of existence to be in relative to dreaming of her, seeing her face, hearing her voice, or to catch a glimpse of her doting his way. And if today happened to become his last, his single, most heartfel desire would be to see her face once more.
He understood, even at death, his final intake of air would necessarily be followed by the ultimate, involuntary exhale. However, he was resolved that the faint perfumed scent from the gifted handkerchief he kept in his fatigue pocket, over his heart, would somehow be forever held captive by his last breath.
ISABELLA SAT busily writing the letter, as if to etch energy into a platter, to feed his empty spirit. Her intent was to fill the heart of her beloved with her thoughts of him, so he would know... just how much.
When completed, with tender dexterity, she folded the teartracked epistle and tucked it neatly away before sealing. Then, with a gentle deliberateness, she pressed her soft, pursed, warm, wanton lips to it, leaving her moist, impassioned and precision-centered, red stain upon the pastel pink exterior of the envelope, which contained the letter, holding a vital statistic that he might never come to realize.
He understood, even at death, his final intake of air would necessarily be followed by the ultimate, involuntary exhale. However, he was resolved that the faint perfumed scent from the gifted handkerchief he kept in his fatigue pocket, over his heart, would somehow be forever held captive by his last breath.
ISABELLA SAT busily writing the letter, as if to etch energy into a platter, to feed his empty spirit. Her intent was to fill the heart of her beloved with her thoughts of him, so he would know... just how much.
When completed, with tender dexterity, she folded the teartracked epistle and tucked it neatly away before sealing. Then, with a gentle deliberateness, she pressed her soft, pursed, warm, wanton lips to it, leaving her moist, impassioned and precision-centered, red stain upon the pastel pink exterior of the envelope, which contained the letter, holding a vital statistic that he might never come to realize.
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