Barney counts.
This was written for Minyan, whose name I forgot earlier. My sincerest apologies. It was a stocking stuffer for Yuletide 2008.
He could feel it some nights, a slight skip in the staccato of her heart. On nights like this, cold and blustery, when they are curled into each other, he could feel each skip and it tore an ever-widening hole in his own heart.
He would lie there and feel her breath against his arm, and he would count. It took twenty beats before he would start all over again.
In the morning, he would awaken and be her jolly friend again. But in the darkness, he prayed for one more day.
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