~o~
The needles bite endlessly in cathartic torture. It feels right to remember her this way, in this exquisite pain and pleasure of ink over his heart. The constant ache in his soul is nearly unbearable, and he hopes this physical pain will harness it against his body like armor.
When the hawk is done, it has brown eyes with a touch of light green, and it's flying free from the hands that held it.
He tries to believe that she'll come back, but he can't be sure.
He wonders if that last bite of the needle is the last time he will make love to her.
~o~