As I lie in bed, with my arms wrapped tightly about Alora's beautiful body, I often have trouble sleeping. I worry that she might one day awake and ask herself what she's doing with me. I watch her face when she sleeps, and sometimes she smiles, almost as though she knows I am watching her. More often than this, though, she looks worried, and often scared or angry. She sometimes says things in her sleep. Her father's name. Occasionally, she'll murmour, and I'll know that she's talking to someone in her dreams.

I know she dreams a lot, because she tells me what she dreams of. For most people, to dream is to escape from reality, but not for Alora. Her dreams often frighten her, and she wakes from them in the early hours of the morning, asking me to hold her.

I know Alora still feels so much hurt, and I don't pretend to be able to take it all away again. The eyes never lie, and Alora's eyes always show her pain, although it can sometimes be hidden by other emotions. I mean to take care of Alora for the rest of my life.

Because I've found what I really want, and I don't mean to let it go.