Every Thing TrueGoran set up the tent. The dry, cold wind rippled through the valley. As night approached, Nadia clutched her shawl tight to her chest. The bone chill dark had ripped them awake the night before. Goran sped his pace, as the prospect of another restless, aching night began to set in upon him.
Nadia looked at Goran. His craggy, pocked-face evidenced a singular determination, as he labored furiously to set up the night's bedding. The winds had blown apart the poorly-constructed hovel of the night before, and he was determined to avoid a repeat of that occurrence.
The crackling and chirping of the terrain ticked steadily on, keeping company. Nadia felt a stirring within, and brushed Goran on the arm as he hammered in a spike. He turned, slid his palm along her face, and rested for a moment.
At last it was done. The dry, icy spirits of the valley soared and swirled around them, pressing and slicing against their faces, even through the netting and canvas of their tent.
Nadia rested her cheek against Goran. His breathing was rapid. He held her tightly, and with heat escaping as quickly as it could be produced, this was both a desire and a necessity.
She looked up at him, and told him that he hadn't always made her happy, but he was a good man, and she had nothing to complain about.
"Is this love?," he wondered.
Nadia traced her hand lightly along his collarbone. Her fingers penetrated the recesses of his form, her cheek and forehead warmed him. He convulsed with a sadness of recognition, and smiled weakly.
-Nov '02
1:39 p.m. - 2003-01-27
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