I love you, I love you, I love you. The words tumble effortlessly from our mouths, again and again.
I hesitate hardly a second before hauling her into my arms. I lean in closer so as to breathe the scent of her hair. I notice the tiny rolls in her neck and feel the bony points of her shoulder blades, terrain I've mapped before.
There are certain details I wish I could freeze in amber: the red ringlets at the nape of her neck, her iridescent pink fingernails, and those eyebrows, raised as if they've had help from a forklift!
And Andy is no less guilty. Celia. He balances her name lightly on his tongue, as if it's made of feathers, and when he whispers in her ear, the words - so comforting, so full of love - sound like they're covered in blankets. Entire conversations take place in silence between the two of them, because the heart has it's own language. And he will wish to remember everything she says, even though she doesn't say a word.
I love you. Three little words. One huge truth.