They looked at each other from across the room,
Exhaustion reeked from their messed up hair.
He quietly walked out to find the broom,
She slouched back, drowning further into the living room couch.
While her mind ran despite how tired it was,
His arms worked hard despite how heavy they felt.
Cleaning the mess never felt tougher,
Neither her sharp mind nor his strong shoulders.
A soft scream escaped his lips,
a sharp piece of something broken cut into his foot.
She was by his side in a few seconds,
Helping him, mothering him, tending to his wound.
Yet the wound was too deep this time,
The words too sharp.
They sat together on the floor and looked around,
9 years, 137 days, 2 hours and 12minutes.
The promise to cross the ultimate finish line of life together loomed overhead,
Their intertwined fingers finding it hard to keep them together.