Arnold Simmons bent down to pick up her shoes and put them on for her.
One done, and then the other.
Hannah lowered her head, "Arnold, what is it that's more than liking someone?"
She asked very seriously, her long lashes casting a small shadow below.
There was no sunlight outside, yet she was the sunlight.
Warm, dazzling, lonely.
Arnold finished tying the straps of the shoes with care, reached out to smooth out the wrinkles on her skirt, looked up to meet those shiny black eyes, his expression solemn, and whispered, "It's you."
Hannah had seen many intense emotions throughout her life.
Love, parting, life and death, hatred.
All of it, as if the blooming flowers were watered with blood, flourishing on rotten soil, coveted by others.
But she also knew that even the most intense emotions could be diluted eventually.
If not now, then in the future.
