Longing was she, to touch his countenance,
Countenance, that had grown from a joyous to a mundane one, with eyes the more haunted,
Haunted, for it waited on uncertainty,
Uncertainty, for he wished to stay paused with her, there; and for better, peaceful days.
Days, that were longer and merrier, full of gushing hope.
Hope, was what she now dearly clung onto.
Onto, she tightly gripped the green wild combat suit.
Suit, is what he looked best in.
In, their hearts, they hoped frantically that this would all soon end, so they could chirp their hearts out.
Out, they now stood, that cold December day; while the building next to them, went up in fickle smoke.
Smoke, suffocated the wits out of her, as she startlingly awoke from her dream.
The dream brought back that lingering fear, and now all she could do, whilst sniffles; longing to touch his countenance.