How easily now, we look at each other.

"It is not running, what we do," her thoughts are as mine.  "It is 
only living."

And gratefully too, we continue on as, sharing thoughts, we stare 
into a future, a future with different names and different faces for us, 
but our souls still our own.  For time heals, and time only moves onward.

"I trust you," she shares with me, "You know that."

No exchange of vow, spoken or written, means more than the touch we 
now share.

And to open these doors, to embark on the endless blue skies 
prepared for with all our lives before now, I weave for the two of us.  I 
weave them, gossamer wings of light.

A view from a height so far, up here where I have finally found 
myself.

Hospital windows open without a touch.

And at long last, the journey

begins

Breath, Craig, Breath.

Sir, that was a work of art.

-- Craig Putnam
Sailor Singularity