He sat in thought most of his time . He marveled over the simplicity of those around him. He enjoyed reading. Reading was his way of understanding others and sometimes himself. He was sure of people. He was sure of their weaknesses and frailties. Sometimes he wrote, his words served as an outlet but never a path to freedom. He didn’t know freedom. He knew overt actions that accounted for his sense of freedom but it was possible he had no clue to what it truly meant.
However, he had her and maybe they shared freedom with one another. Though, they seemed to spend more time apart than together. More time in dissonance than in harmony. They had not spoken in a while, and he missed her presence. He missed the sensation of her touch. The light of her existence. The way of her love. And even more than he missed her, he missed them–together.

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