“Jill, jill, oh jill,” he whispered like a song.
His ass hurt from landing rather roughly on the frozen street. He was freezing from the biting wind and lack of mittens. But he didn’t care, because he was holding Jill. Finally.
“Am I dreaming?” he whispered into her august burnt hair.
“You dream of me crying; storming out of Paige’s house; loosing my best friend; loosing my best friend over nothing..,” she trailed off wearily.
If he were to call her anything but Jill or love, he would call her honey because that’s what she reminded him of. A little thick in the head but so sugary sweet. A sticky situation. You see the endless metaphors he could place her and honey in?
“No,” he said as his lips travelled from her ear down to her chin, “I dream of you.”
“Oh,” she sniffed and then hiccuped. “How fucking pathetic.”
He pulled away. “What?”
“We are all so damn pathetic. I’m fucking sick of this shit!”
He smiled as she pulled both of them upright. He spread his musty wings and flew with her far far away.