Even the kindest love hurts a little sometimes, if there is anything in us that might be hurt, living as it does in the most vulnerable parts of ourselves. Especially if those parts have been injured before, and especially if they have not healed.

[ She lifts her thumb so she can press some small part of his hand between it and her fingers. ]

I imagine there are people for whom love does not hurt, and I wish them all joy. I am not one of them. You must not think the fullness of my agonies are made by you because sometimes I will scream when you touch me. The gentlest touch on raw flesh sears, does it not?

[ A pause while she makes a tiny stroking motion with her thumb, and then she leans in again to set her cheek lightly against his. ]

Perhaps the time we will have together is not forever, but whilst I live I will love you, and I am already the better for it.