The old man turned his head to look at his wife. “Quit y’belly achin’,” he muttered with a smirk. “Woman, I’m here f’ya an’ all I ever here is how y’end up alone, y’die alone.” Clint reached up and adjusted his ballcap. “We’re all alone.”
He exhaled softly. “But we don’t gotta be.” Clint took her hand. “So I choose not t’be.”
"You are entirely too optimistic," she gave him a reproachful look from where she laid on the couch, her arm suspended in the air as he took her hand and held onto it. "It’s infuriating."
green oasis 🌱