They made their way west, across the island, toward the capital, finding food, clothes and shelter in the homes of friendly campesinos along the road, eating sugar cane from fields and drinking water from rivers, sleeping in marshes surrounded by stars, making their way to the great city.
Now they were body to body, in the morning light of a rainy day.
“Mi mariposa hermosa,” he whispered.
“Estoy aqui, estoy aqui,” she whispered back.
They made love to each other as the rain fell softly on the window.
- trevor scott barton, stories for a brown-eyed girl, 2020
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