As he peered at her, it was as if the gods above had recognized his sufferings, conceded his torments and had hand carved a dove to stand perfectly by his side, not just one of hope and love, forgiveness and bewitchment but strength and courage, where his sorrows in her presence had existed no more. He'd burn down the heavens, sacrifice whatever gods roamed the skies to the power of humanity's sin to conceal, keep her beside him. He dared to touch her, afraid his hand may turn to dust or alight with the hatred of her love, horror stricken by the thought of her warmth diminishing, their DNA never sculpting as one, never allowing her papillary ridges to claim his being once more.